


Something's Gotta Give

by Ceeahrr



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Rush crossover appears to be happening.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 77,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceeahrr/pseuds/Ceeahrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franky is out of Wentworth and working at a high profile law firm. Erica married Mark Pearson but is completely undone by the re-appearance of Franky Doyle in her life. A good amount of BDSM -- be warned.</p><p>I don't own any of these fantastic characters created by the writers of Wentworth and Rush. And I am mighty humbled by the lyrics of "Something's Gotta Give" by Johnny Mercer (fave version is Ella Fitzgerald).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ready, Set...

Frankie Doyle sat in the law library at University of Melbourne’s Parkville campus, studying for her year three legal ethics course. An eager, blond-haired blue-eyed young woman sat across the table gazing at Franky longingly.

She looked up and caught the lustful stare of her study partner, who quickly averted her eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the study material. A flush of red spread across her face, down her neck to her cleavage, which Franky eyed appreciatively. “Hey Nic,” Franky whispered. “Fancy a break? Let’s get a cuppa.”

The young woman stopped pretending to study and smiled at Franky, then began to gather her things. She had a deep crush on Franky Doyle, bad girl several months out of Wentworth. Nic liked bad girls. At least she thought she did. She came from a wealthy suburban family and hadn’t been much away from her private schools and private school friends until university. She fancied herself wanting a bad girl. Just like the gorgeously sexy and dangerous Franky Doyle.

Franky smirked at the girl’s enthusiasm and gathered her things as well. She liked Nic Davidson a lot. The girl was sweet, but very naïve. She had, however, proven to be an invaluable and supportive study partner over the 3L year. She was spot on keeping Franky accountable to a regular study group, even driving Franky to and from campus when their schedules matched. Hanging out with Nic helped Franky seem less dangerous to the rather plain, young and earnest kids at the law school. She noticed that even a couple of the professors were much more friendly when she was with Nic.

However, there was only one Davidson girl in which Franky had any interest.

When Erica had disappeared from Wentworth prison three years earlier, Franky was devastated. She had written a number of desperate, heart-wrenching letters to Erica, letters she learned had been intercepted, read, and trashed by the Freak. She then voraciously followed Erica’s life in Melbourne’s social news – the extravagant wedding to Mark Pearson barely months after her abrupt departure from Wentworth; the fundraisers and social events the Pearson’s attended as Erica continued to be a crusader for the rights of underprivileged women – especially those caught in the criminal justice system.

And Franky had held on to that kiss. That sweet, anguished capitulation in the Governor’s office when Erica had finally acknowledged their connection, their chemistry, their intense longing for one another. She knew they needed the time and space to explore the intensity of their bond, which wasn’t only sexual. There was so much more between Erica and Franky than the sex. Franky was not exaggerating when she said that Erica got her in a way no one else had.

 

Franky, on the other hand, knew exactly what Erica really wanted, what she needed. And Franky knew that Erica was afraid, that what that kiss had revealed about her sexuality and desire had shaken her to her core; that she was afraid to even imagine there was a healthy, whole, emotionally satisfying way to have everything she wanted. Hence her hurried marriage and settling into vanilla denial.

But Franky was patient. And calculating. And strategic. Meeting Veronica “Nic” Davidson had been a purely amazing coincidence and Franky had been hard pressed not to manipulate the young woman to get close to the family, close to Erica. But truth be told, Nic had pursued her, throwing herself at Franky repeatedly. When that didn’t appear to be working, she offered all sorts of information about her family, about her socially well-known older sister, in an attempt to keep Franky’s attention, which was clearly peaked when Nic talked about Erica. Even though Franky insisted to Nic that she not mention to her sister that Franky and Nic had become friends and study partners.

_“She’ll freak out, Nic. She was my Governor at Wentworth for a few months, and before that, she tutored me. I quite like her but I don’t think she would fancy me as a suitable mate for her baby sister. So let’s just keep this between you and me.”_

_“I should tell her we’re dating.”_

_Franky about blew her iced tea out her nose but managed to swallow with only a small coughing fit. “Definitely do not tell her that. She’ll bring me up on charges of… something.” Franky actually knew there was nothing anyone could do if she seduced the young woman. She just wasn’t interested, and any hint of it would complicate her path back to Erica. “Just leave it Nic. Trust me. When I cross paths again with your sister it should absolutely not have anything at all to do with you. Ok?”_

_Franky thought Nic was cute and sweet but knew that Erica Davidson’s baby sister was a non-starter. Young Veronica was very, very fuckable; but no one compared, in Franky’s heart and soul, to Erica Davidson. Franky wasn’t hurting for sex by any means. She had several girls with whom she had casual sex. Nic was easily eight years younger than Franky, a cute kid. Not that there was anything wrong with fucking younger women. But Franky wasn’t about to do anything that jeopardized her road back to Erica._

_“I could handle her, you know, Franky. If there was actually a chance you might be kinda interested in going out with me. I always get my way with Erica. There’s only us two girls against our four brothers, and even though we’re ten years apart, she’s kind of like my best friend. Plus, it’s been really weird not telling her about you. I really don’t get why this is a big deal.”_

_“Someday you will, Nic. In the mean time, you’re going to have to trust me. Just keep me out of conversations with your sister.”_

*************************

At the beginning of Franky’s second and final semester of Melbourne Law School, she was invited to interview for an internship with deMedici Law, one of the most prestigious firms in Victoria. DeMedici was known for it’s third generation collaboration with and defense of organized crime. She was also asked to interview with Atkins & Associates, a well-known social justice defense firm – a perfect fit for Franky’s interest and guaranteed to put her in direct interface with Erica as a defense attorney for the City of Melbourne. Franky spent the entirety of the three years between when she last saw Erica at Wentworth and the pending graduation with her law degree preparing to see Erica again.

And then she met Michael.

Michael Lee deMedici was the prodigal daughter of the deMedici family, a hot as shit barrister known to do occasional pro-bono work for women in the system, an interesting contradiction to the rest of the family business. Michael was the first daughter in the three generations of deMedici Law. She had spent her early university years as a national swimming champion, even making the Australian Olympic team, but then dropped out to ace law school in 2 years, walking away from the sports spotlight for good. And stunning – 185 cm tall flat footed, lean athletic body to die for; long, straight midnight tresses and violet eyes.

She had interviewed Franky personally, and found her to be very attractive. Definitely personally, but Michael could also tell that Franky had a brilliant legal mind, a passionate competitive streak, and the notoriety surrounding her criminal past did not phase Michael at all. Given the deMedici clientele, Franky’s crime was fairly milquetoast. But Franky’s chemistry and personality made her someone Michael intended to know very, very well.

Plus, that Franky was a ragingly out lesbian was a bonus for Michael, who was definitely interested in some bad-girl on bad-girl action with the gorgeous and charismatic Franky Doyle. An affair with an ex-con fit right in with her ongoing battle to completely defy and outrage her mother, an acid-washed bitch from Hades. Michael was the youngest child in the deMedici brood, a beautiful girl completely spoiled by all the men in her family, all the men around for miles really. Her mother resented Michael as the attention her mother was used to shifted to the daughter. Michael’s mother had never forgiven her only daughter for outshining her in the visual appeal department.

Franky didn’t think twice when deMedici called and offered her the position. If she could survive a couple of years at deMedici Law, she would make twice the average salary of any other place – four times what she would make at Atkins – and be well positioned to get tangled up with Erica when the time was right. What Franky was clear about with Erica was that she wouldn’t go to her, meet her again, as a cash-strapped and needy ex-con. She needed to dominate in more than the bedroom. And she needed to be independent next to Erica’s wealthy family and marriage. She needed to compete on all levels. It was a risky proposition.

But Franky understood a couple things when Erica disappeared three years ago; when Erica made no attempts to see Franky or contact her. One was that Erica was confused and frightened of her feelings for Franky. Erica had been angry and clearly conflicted, summoning Franky to the Governor’s office almost daily for inane conversations and ridiculous demands. Clearly flustered by proximity to Franky but unable to stay away, she had become increasingly defensive and reactive in the months prior to her leaving; and downright hostile in that final week when Franky had roughly, blissfully kissed Erica in her office. Another thing she realized was that the flirting with the tutor and then the Governor had stopped being a game when they kissed. What she felt in that moment, when Erica had given in, kissed her back, was a profound sweetness and light she had never experienced. Franky was in love. And she had seen the same thing in Erica’s eyes when she pulled away.

Franky had pushed Erica into that corner because she could see them both unraveling and thought that if they could finally acknowledge what was obviously happening, finally figure out a way to fuck, they could both get a grip on the sexual tension that was palpable to anyone within a 10 foot radius of the two of them. Erica would be able to get it together and reclaim control over the prison staff and inmates. They would make each other better, stronger. The Governorship was a bit over Erica’s head, but Franky knew exactly how to make it work, if she could just get Erica under control. If Franky could channel her own anger, which was definitely soothed by Erica’s sweet encouragement and care. Being near Erica, hearing her voice, talking to her, made Franky feel safe, for the first time in her life.

But Erica had fled. And Franky was lost. Until she picked herself up and began to refocus on getting out. She could finish two years of law school inside Wentworth; and if she stayed out of trouble and got early parole, would be out in time to do her entire 3L outside. And she did it. And she stayed away from Erica for that first year, waiting for the right opportunity while she put her ducks in a row. She needed a job and a decent apartment. Then Erica. When Michael had offered her a beginning associate position at deMedici, Franky was half way there.

Except for one small wrinkle. Michael deMedici was fucking gorgeous and had been coming onto Franky since she was hired. At first it was just harmless flirting, cheeky banter, a bit of back talk. But then Michael had started asking Franky to stay late, just the two of them. They often went to dinner together, where Michael seemed to find some excuse to brush up against Franky, touch her skin. And then one evening, as the sun was going down and they were both still at the office, alone, Michael had approached her with more serious intent. She had asked permission, but then kissed Franky hungrily, pressing her hard against the wall in the conference room where they had been working. The girl was hot. Franky gave as good as she got.

She wasn’t stupid. Franky knew Michael was her boss. Michael was a partner at one of the most powerful law firms in Melbourne. Michael was well known as an extremely powerful and respected business woman in the state. And Michael deMedici was showing a pointed interest in the development, professional and personal, of Franky Doyle. Exactly what she needed to be able to show up in Erica’s life with a chance to really compete with that wanker of a husband of hers. And Franky hadn’t minded that kiss much at all.

As colleagues they were a good fit, Franky and Michael. Michael pushed her intellectually and Franky met the challenges every step of the way. They got along socially as well – Michael was unfazed by Franky’s brash and often vulgar humor. Franky doubted their sexual compatibility in the long term. Michael was beautiful with a body to die for, but she was clearly not going to be dominated in bed – the role that Franky relished. The role that made her a perfect match for Erica Davidson. Franky figured that she and Michael could have great, athletic, mostly satisfying sex. As long as nobody got attached.


	2. and Go!

“Where are we going?” Franky asked Michael as they purred along through the warehouse district in her SLK-class convertible Mercedes roadster. Shit. I can get used to this.

Michael grinned at her from behind aviator sunglasses as she pulled into a garage beneath the stylish Bay Lofts on the South Wharf in downtown Melbourne. They exited the car and entered an elevator which took them to the third floor.

“Miss deMedici, I do protest!” Franky said playfully as she followed Michael out of the elevator down to the end of a long hallway with only 4 doors.

“So formal when we’re off the clock,” the taller woman said, flipping her sunglasses up on top of her head. She turned her head to look at Franky, grinning mischievously, as they approached the door. “We need to work that out, Ms. Doyle.”

Franky felt the heat behind that comment, and couldn’t help but be drawn into those violet eyes. They had done some heavy flirting in the month she had been on staff at deMedici Law, been out to dinner on a number of occasions. And finally got down to business with a heavy make-out session in the conference room earlier in the day. Franky still held a candle for Erica but she wasn’t immune to this woman’s obvious beauty and dangerous charm.

And certainly not opposed to casual sex.

Michael pulled out a key chain with two keys and a fob, and opened the door, ushering Franky inside with a light slap on her ass. Franky turned around to face Michael as she backed into the apartment.

“So what is this place?”

“Take a look around.”

Franky had a feeling where this was going and was getting a little anxious to peel Michael deMedici out of those tight leather pants. She approached Michael slowly, placing one hand on her stomach and sliding the other up between her breasts, making contact with bare skin in between slight but obvious cleavage. Michael had a seemingly endless supply of tailored, white shirts that hugged her frame exquisitely, of which she had the frustrating habit of unbuttoning revealingly at the end of the work day when it was just the two of them still in the office.

Her hand continued up the bare skin on Michael’s chest as she pulled their hips together with the other hand. Her fingers traced the skin across Michael’s collar bone, then curled around the back of her neck as Franky’s fingers pushed into her boss’s hair.

Michael grinned again, showing perfectly flawless white teeth as she wrapped her arms around Franky’s waist. “I really want you to take a look around. You’re going to miss the sunset.”

“The view is fine right here,” Franky said, leaning forward and nipping Michael’s bottom lip, then licking it. She could feel Michael’s pulse quickening under the thumb Franky had pressed against the taller woman’s jugular.

“Jesus, Franky,” Michael said, her violet eyes staring deeply into Franky’s green ones. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against Franky’s, taking a deep breath. “One kiss, then I’m giving you the tour.” She leaned in slowly, gently capturing Franky’s bottom lip, then her top lip.

The softness surprised Franky. She had thought Michael would be as aggressive sexually as she was in the office and in the courtroom; pushing, relentless, demanding, commanding, predatory. Franky had often imagined their sexual horseplay, both women wanting to be in charge. But Michael’s lips were softly insistent, gently coaxing Franky’s lips apart, then sliding a tongue inside more as a question than a demand. Franky smiled into the kiss, surprised at this turn of events as she pulled Michael’s mouth firmly against her own, deepening the kiss.

Michael moaned as she became lost in Franky’s hot, seeking mouth. Franky’s tongue became more urgent as the kiss continued. A low burn started in Franky’s center. She had had a number of one-off’s with fellow classmates over the year she’d out of prison, but nothing that came close to the sexual power dynamic that existed with Michael deMedici. Franky’s hand moved up from Michael’s hip and into her blouse, cupping her small, firm breast – barely a handful. Michael wasn’t wearing a bra. She placed a thumb on her nipple and pressed, resulting in a sharp intake of breath. Michael grabbed Franky’s hands in a vice-like grip – she still maintained her athletic physique – and pushed her back, turning away.

“Shit – Michael. I thought…”

Michael turned back swiftly and pressed her fingers to Franky’s lips, stopping her from speaking. Her expression was a bit confused and undone.

“It’s fine,” she tried to say but her voice cracked. She pushed away a troubling sensation that Franky might be more than a fuck for her. She didn’t have time or the inclination to be emotionally involved with anyone. Given all of the warped and truly dysfunctional relationships in her own family and at work, Michael didn’t even have any true friends, let alone a “love” interest. The thought repulsed her and she shook her head to clear it. And she would be a fool to think Doyle was a one-woman kind of girl. Michael needed to get to the fucking, keep things clean between them. She was so ready to fuck Franky Doyle. She smiled, cleared her throat, and interlaced her other fingers with Franky’s. “Time for a tour.” She spun Franky around and advanced from the entryway into the room.

Before Franky even had time to guess what might have been going on in Michael’s head it was her turn to gasp. The loft was stunning. Easily 2000 square feet of ground floor, twenty foot ceilings, open concept. Directly to the right was a kitchen; in front a dining area and beyond that a humongous lounge with a fireplace. But the kicker was the entire wall of floor to ceiling windows looking out over the harbor and downtown Melbourne. This was the view you only saw on the telly, not from your own fucking house.

Beyond the dining area there was wrought iron staircase against the wall, which Michael was pulling her toward. She pushed Franky up the stairs ahead of her. The loft bedroom was about 1/3 of the length of the downstairs floor, completely open to the ground floor. Along one wall was a walk in wardrobe that extended the length of the room, and a doorway on the opposite wall led to a fully appointed ensuite with a separate wet-room shower, spa bath, and two vanity sinks.

In the space in between was a sparsely furnished master bedroom with a California King sized bed, a chest of drawers, a chaise lounge, book shelves and a desk. The stellar view was completely accessible from the loft bedroom.

“Fuck, deMedici. Aye!” Franky momentarily lost her composure. “Is this your flat?”

“I don’t live here. I own it but it is currently leased to a client. He paid up front for the year. Yesterday he let me know that he wouldn’t be using the space at all. Didn’t even ask for a refund on the lease, which still has nine months left on it.”

Franky stared at her, refusing to believe where this seemed to going. She had expected forceful, aggressive demands and hot, steamy sex in a love shack, which this place clearly was. Yet here was Michael was being… nice?

“So this is your action squat for the year, aye?”

Michael sighed. It was as if Franky was being deliberately obtuse. “I’m offering for you to live here. You can take it or leave it, Franky. The lease is paid for the next nine months.” But Michael also realized she was acting out of character. She hadn’t positioned a quid pro quo. Was she being nice to Franky? And if so, why?

Fuck all! Get it together, she thought, then said, “If you’re nice to me, maybe we can make an arrangement for you to stay longer. But you can have the nine months. I figured it would be a nice shift from the shitty half-way house you’ve been stuck in for the year, and give you some flexibility to figure out your career. ”

Franky was quiet for a moment, watching Michael watching her. What was she getting out of this arrangement? It was a hell of a generous offer for some casual sex, which Franky would have been happy to supply anyway. What was she missing? What was the angle?

“By nice, you mean fucking,” Franky stated boldly, unable to come up with any ulterior motive that wasn’t completely obvious. Michael was many things, but obvious wasn’t one of them.

Michael turned her back to Franky and walked over to the bed, where she sat down. “Yes,” Michael stated. “Now get over here and show me how nice you can be.”

Power and privilege in exchange for sex from someone who did not have power and privilege was a dynamic Franky recognized. She knew a deal – especially a good deal -- better than anyone, and was well used to using sex to get what she wanted. This deal seemed to be too good to be true, though. She was going to have to give it some thought.

Michael beckoned her with a finger and Franky complied, settling into her default cocky demeanor. As she approached the bed, she pushed Michael’s knees apart and stepped between them. She reached out to hold Michael’s face between her hands, but suddenly found herself on her back, her hands pinned above her head and a long, sinewy thigh pressed against her center.

“Yes, fucking. A lot of fucking, Franky.” The kiss was hard, demanding. Here was the predator that Franky knew, and was expecting in bed. She leaned up into the kiss, her tongue battling with Michael’s.

“Nine months. maybe I can knock you up,” Franky whispered into Michaels mouth as she struggled against Michael’s grip but it was much stronger than Franky thought, and she couldn’t get the upper hand.

“I expect you to try, Doyle,” Michael chuckled against Franky’s neck as she left a trail of bite marks on Franky’s skin. The taller women rolled them over, releasing Franky’s hands and pulling at her clothes. Franky helped, then swiftly divested the other women of her clothing as they explored every surface, curve and angle of each others bodies.

When Michael came for the third time, shuddering against Franky’s mouth, she was, again, silent in her ecstasy. Franky looked up the long, gorgeous body and saw a hand pressed hard against Michael’s mouth as she struggled not to make a sound. She climbed up Michael’s body and lay draped across her lover, placing slow, soft kisses across her shoulder and onto her neck. Michael pulled Franky in closer and kissed her head, still trembling slightly.

Shitload of baggage in there. Maybe I don’t want to unpack that. But then again, she’s going to have to make some noise at some point. Cuz I’m fucking awesome at sex. And I need to hear it. Franky wanted to make Michael scream. Given the women’s family and likely family history, and Franky’s own penchant for making even the hardest cases fall for her, she wondered if this was a deal she was going to regret.

It was unwise, to put it mildly, to break the heart of the deMedici’s only daughter. Franky had already lost her heart to Erica and was completely unclear on the true depths of entanglement of the deMedici family with organized crime. Was she going to end up in the bay with a pair of cement trainers? What if Michael decided she didn’t want to let go of her new toy?

Naaaaah. Michael deMedici was a high society, high class, wealthy woman who would never publicly consort outside her social group and family relationships. Eventually she would form a power couple with the right guy from the right prominent Melbourne family and breed. Right? Franky was a blip on Michael’s screen.

But wasn’t Frank expecting Erica Davidson to consort outside her social group and family relationships? Erica was also a high society, high class, wealthy woman. Franky didn’t like where this line of thought was leading her. She shifted her attention back to the task at hand.

“Was that nice enough for you, deMedici?” she whispered, then caught Michael’s earlobe between her teeth, biting her.

Michael shuddered, then flipped Franky onto her back, expertly sliding two fingers inside Franky’s eagerly waiting pussy. “Mmmhmmm. Fuck yeah, Doyle. I might have to keep you.”

************************

Two weeks later, Franky found herself tooling along a well-appointed street in St. Kilda in Nic’s Volvo.

“So where we going, Nic? Seriously. I can’t be out late – I have a date tonight,” Franky lied. Michael was out of town, but she had a vague feeling she didn’t want to leave the evening open-ended with Nic. They had finished exams and were in the two-day hiatus before the graduation ceremony.

They pulled into the driveway of an average looking mcmansion, like every other mcmansion on the street. It had a 4 car garage and there were easily 5 cars already parked in the driveway. Nic got out and came around to open Franky’s door. Franky hadn’t moved. In fact, she had gone very still and closed her eyes.

She was trying very hard not to punch something. She was 99.9% sure they were at Nic’s house. Nic’s parents house. Erica’s parents house. That she had just been tricked into family dinner. And Mrs. Pearson was likely to be in attendance. Franky wasn’t sure she was ready for this.

The car door opened and Nic peered down at her. “Are you alright? You’ve gone a bit green, Franky.”

Franky could not believe she had let herself get into this. It just never occurred to her that Nic would take her home for dinner, like some fucking teenage date. Why in the world would Nic take her home for dinner? Why would Nic think she would want to go home to her parents’ house! For dinner! For FUCKS SAKE!

She took a deep breath and swallowed the enraged scream that threatened to explode from her body, and opened her eyes. She wanted to throttle the girl. Nic was peering at her earnestly, worried. She did look quite a bit like Erica and Franky’s anger dissolved immediately. She couldn’t help but chuckle, as she recognized that furrow in Nic’s forehead which had signaled genuine confusion in Erica. She’d often had that exact look during their one-on-one tutoring sessions at Wentworth when Franky would suddenly take the conversation at a right angle with one of her direct and vulgar questions.

She sighed, and smiled widely. “Yeah. But your sister is going to be tossed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Nic also had the same sexy smile that Erica had. It appeared just then. “She’ll be fine. You got along with her, right? She used to talk about you all the time. I think she will be over the moon to see you, actually.”

“Riiiiiight.” Franky said, trying to save her trademark cheeky grin for Erica. “I’m sure Mrs. Pearson will be delighted to see one of her former inmates across the dinner table.”

“Well she’s a right hypocrite then. She’s always bringing hard cases home for dinner. Not that you’re a hard case, Franky.” Nic blushed adorably. Just like Erica. “You’re my friend, and I don’t know if I’ll see you again much after graduation. My mum and da won’t let me go anywhere near deMedici anything. I just wanted to have you over once, okay?”

“Sure. Lead the way.” Franky sighed and tried to quickly steel herself not to grin at Erica like an idiot for the next several hours. Then she realized she was nervous. She actually had no idea how Erica was going to react. Most likely she would be furious, assuming the worst about her relationship with Nic.

They entered the house through a back door that led directly into the kitchen. A brown woman dressed in a maid’s outfit was cooking an elaborate dinner. “Hey Nelda!” Nic called to the woman, who looked up and grinned. She kissed her on both cheeks. “I brought my friend Franky home for dinner.”

Nelda grinned at Franky and nodded. Franky nodded back.

“Mum, Da! I brought a friend for dinner.” Nic continued moving through the kitchen past a humongous lounge room and dining room out onto an elaborately paved and shaded back patio, overlooking a large swimming pool. There must have been at least 10 people sitting and standing around that patio, drinking and laughing as they socialized together. All beautiful blonde siblings and parents of Erica and Nic, and associated in-laws. As they entered the space, a cry of “Nic” went up in unison from everyone, who lifted a drink to her. A drink was shoved into Franky’s hand as Nic pulled her around introducing her to her parents, Bev and Justin; then her older brothers, Jason, Martin, Ashton, then her twin brother Vince and all the associated in-laws.

Franky had seen her immediately when they approached the outdoor area. She was standing on the far side of the patio next to a plain but handsome man who had his hand on her back. Her bare back. Erica’s blonde hair was loose and a little windswept and wild, longer than when Franky had last seen her at Wentworth. She was in profile, facing away from most of the group, speaking earnestly to her husband. She was wearing a halter top, which left her entire back bare. The short, white skirt wasn’t tight, but showed Erica’s rounded bum nicely, and displayed those long legs to fantastic effect. Erica was gorgeous. Franky couldn’t breathe.

And then Erica turned around to toast her sister with the rest of the family, and froze. Her eyes immediately locked with Franky’s and her mouth stopped mid cheer. The tempered crystal tumbler full of scotch and ice she was holding up slipped out of her hand crashing onto the pavers in front of her, splashing golden liquid across her lightly tanned feet.

Franky smiled at her, unable to hold it in. Erica was stunning, even more beautiful than Franky had remembered, in this casual setting with her hair down and so much skin visible in the waning light. Everything inside Franky exploded with memory and sensation and emotion and she couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off her face as she tore her eyes away from Erica’s visage and made the rounds meeting the family with Nic. By the time they had reached Erica and Mark, he was holding her completely in his arms off the pavement. She wasn’t wearing any shoes and there was shattered glass all around their feet now. She gaped, her breaths becoming short and anxious, as Franky approached.

“Erica – you remember Franky Doyle?” said Nic. “Be nice – she said you wouldn’t be happy to see her but I assured her that wasn’t true.”

“Heard a lot about you, Franky,” chimed in Mark. “It’s a pleasure.”

Franky’s stomach did eight flips. They stared at each other, blue eyes locked on green. Franky wanted to take Erica out of Marks arms, lay her down on the chaise and kiss her senseless.

Erica’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, but no sound came out. Both her arms were around Mark’s neck, but when Franky reached out for her, Erica’s hand found it’s way into Franky’s, seemingly of its own accord.

Franky pressed Erica’s fingers to her lips, kissed them. “Did you miss me, Miss Davidson?” she said, cheekily. That little furrow appeared in Erica’s brow, but still no sound.

“Dinner!” Nelda called from the house.


	3. Irresistable Force

Erica was completely unsure how she made it into the dining room and into her seat next to Mark. The scotch had certainly helped, but her mind was racing, as was her pulse, with memories of her time at Wentworth, so many moments with Franky that she had tried to erase from her consciousness. How easily Franky had manipulated their ostensibly formal tutoring sessions into outrageous flirting, flirting that Erica was completely unable to resist. When they had managed to have a conversation that was not dripping with unresolved sexual tension, Erica found Franky to be a highly engaging, thoughtful, brilliant and witty conversationalist. No matter how hard she tried to resist Franky, she became increasingly frustrated and conflicted about their time together. And could not stay away.

With every step of their courtship inside Wentworth, Erica become angrier and more defiant the closer Franky got to breaking through her defenses. And she not-so-secretly thrilled at the attention from the cheeky prisoner with the green eyes, electrified at the thought of what Franky’s fingers might feel like on the her skin, what Franky’s lips and tongue might feel like in Erica’s most intimate places.

Franky invaded her dreams, and seemed to know it when she finally pushed Erica into a corner and staked a claim. Erica was completely undone by that kiss; undone, confused, angry, and aroused beyond sense. It was a yearning so intense she had no reference for it, and the only person with whom she could talk about it was Franky. Which was completely impossible. Until that damned kiss. Erica hadn’t truly understood what was between them, how deeply she had fallen for the prisoner. The kiss changed everything. Rather than embracing the euphoria of enlightenment about her true nature, she had fled from it, no longer trusting herself to maintain any sense of authority or even dignity in Franky’s presence.

There was absolutely no place for that intense emotion and desire inside of her perfect life and relationship with Mark. She put all of her Franky fantasies, her dominance and submissive Velvet Curtain cravings, in a tiny little box in the back of her mind, locked it and threw away the key. Then she threw herself wholly into Mark Pearson’s arms, thinking he could save her from herself, from a life of depraved sexuality, consorting in dark and dirty places with a criminally beautiful and devastatingly attractive ex-con. There was nowhere in her life that scenario could possibly fit. There was no where for Franky in her life, except as her student inside the walls of Wentworth.

All of those memories, fantasies, sensations, moments with Franky clanged and crashed in Erica’s head as she watched the younger woman across the table deftly deflecting her sister’s flirtatious pawing. As she slowly regained her composure, she silently watched Franky smile, laugh, make witty comments to her hosts. Erica had to admit that Franky looked fantastic. Sleeveless blouse revealed lightly tanned, toned arms and that damn tattoo on her left breast. Tight black jeans accentuated a clearly firm and shapely arse. Obviously she was in law school, was she graduating with Nic? How could Nic not have mentioned this. Were they… dating?

Of course Franky would have seduced her sister. Her young sister. Would Franky really do that? Erica had barely touched her dinner and looked down into the bowl of strawberry gelato that she hadn’t touched either. She looked again across the table at Franky, just as she was licking the last bit of gelato off of her spoon. She seemed to be taking a very long time at it, Erica noticed, as she realized she was watching Franky’s tongue. A familiar twinge started low, beneath her belly. She averted her eyes upward, only to fall into an emerald sea. Franky was now watching her. And she had seen Erica staring at her, at her tongue. A slow, familiar smirk spread across Franky’s lips and Erica was right back at Wentworth, in that corner. Maybe she’d never really left it.

She stood up abruptly, turning over her chair and fumbled to upright it as everyone stared at her awkward movements.

“Honey, you alright?” Mark said, looking at her with confusion. “What happened?”

“Just… just… sorry,” she sputtered. “A little upset stomach. Would you fix me an alka seltzer please, and bring it down?” She rushed from the room, down the hall. Shit shit shit. When she reached the bathroom she kneeled down and put her forehead against the cool tiles on the floor and focused on taking long, deep breaths. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Was Franky going to blow up her life?

Mark entered and crouched down next to her. “Honey. What’s up?” He passed her the glass of antacid as she righted herself.

Without even thinking, Erica emitted a long, loud belch. This was a dubitable skill honed over many years growing up in a house with four brothers. “Just a bit of indigestion,” she grinned sheepishly. “I thought it was coming out at the table. I felt it would be bad form in front of a former inmate of mine.” The lie came so easily.

Mark laughed from deep in his belly. “Alright. I’ll cover for you. Everyone is headed into the lounge to watch the football match, so you can sneak in without anyone noticing, likely.” He left her in the bathroom alone.

Erica emptied the glass of antacid into the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, taking slow, deep breaths trying to regain her composure. When she felt sufficiently calm, she entered the lounge and took her customary seat next to Mark.

She didn’t even pretend not to look at Franky this time. As she settled herself in, Mark’s arm around her shoulder, she saw Franky mimic the gesture, putting her arm around Nic who snuggled appreciatively against Franky’s side. Erica glared. Franky smiled. Erica turned to the match for a few minutes, pretending to care, but soon was watching Franky again. The girl was like catnip. And she knew it. She continued to stare at Erica, but now she played with Nic’s hair. Being deliberately provocative.

Erica had enough. She was going to set some boundaries. Now. Even though she knew she was already in trouble, she wasn’t going down without a fight. And she had reason to be angry. Not just because Franky had shown up at her parents house unannounced; but that Franky had clearly been out of prison for months, perhaps years, and Erica hadn’t known. Franky hadn’t contacted her. Yet here she was in Erica’s childhood home clearly probably maybe already having seduced her younger sister.

She approached the “couple” and glared hard at Franky, who grinned back at her. Argh! She hadn’t changed at all. Still so brash! Still a predator!

“With me, Franky,” Erica commanded, standing stiffly in front of the two ostensible love birds. “Now!” she growled.

“Oooh, Governor! “ Franky said in a low voice, slowly enunciating each syllable. Gov-nah. It used to drive Erica nuts. Nic was snoring softly against Franky’s shoulder. “Trying to get me alone already?”

Erica turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

******************************************

Clearly it still drove Erica nuts. Franky gently dislodged Nic from her side and posed her in a comfortable resting position, then hurried after Erica. Was Erica seriously going somewhere private? And unsupervised? Certainly not the measured Miss Davidson. When she had kissed Erica’s hand earlier, she knew the spark was still there. And she knew Erica felt it. Could a boring marriage and vanilla sex have made Erica reckless? Franky could only hope.

Erica turned into a room off the hallway leading from the lounge. Franky followed her in, then closed the door, leaning against it. The room was dark except for a small lamp on a desk on the far side of the room. Franky spent a moment assessing the distance between the door, herself, Erica and the desk, then spotted the small lounge – much better for fucking than the desk. She started with Erica’s feet, letting her eyes move up those long, gorgeous legs to the hem of her short skirt, to the bare strip of flesh beneath her halter, then to the cleavage, before finally settling on Erica’s eyes. She was seething.

Three…

Two…

One…

“If you think you can just…” Erica sputtered, barely finishing the words before Franky had spun her around and mashed her against the door, kissing her hard. Erica pushed her hands against Franky’s shoulders, struggling. Franky rolled her eyes. Were they really doing this again? She pulled back, grabbing Erica’s hands and interlacing their fingers, then slamming their entwined hands against the door beside Erica’s head.

“We aren’t seriously going to do this again, Erica, are we? Because you know we both want this.” Erica was breathing hard, still struggling, but Franky was stronger and held her still, pressing one denim clad thigh between Erica’s legs.

A sharp intake of breath from Erica. Then a pause. Franky watched the internal struggle Erica was having. She waited.

“Are you having sex with my little sister?” Erica growled, not quite capitulating, but not fighting anymore, either. At least not physically.

“Are you kidding?” Franky scoffed. “Aye, Erica. You really think I would do that? To you? Besides. There’s only one Davidson girl I’m interested in fucking.” She leaned in slowly, watching Erica’s reaction. Her breathing calmed slightly as she appeared to take in what Franky was saying. Her brow furrowed, then Erica’s tongue appeared, wetting her bottom lip. Franky smiled and followed the path of that tongue with her own, then pressed her lips fully against Erica’s. This time there was no resistance.

The first thing that occurred to Erica was that Franky tasted of hazelnut. They had had an assortment of fruit and gelato after dinner. Erica had been keenly aware of that gelato passing across Franky’s lips. Each and every spoonful.

She felt Franky’s tongue again against her lips, gently asking for entrance. The sweetness on Franky’s mouth somehow made it make sense for Erica to open up for more. Then again, there was absolutely nothing in her body that wanted to fight this at all. While her head and stomach were a confused ball of tense emotion, everything else about her wanted to melt into Franky Doyle completely.

She parted her lips giving permission for Franky to deepen the kiss. Franky dove into Erica’s mouth, devouring her and she moaned, kissing back. The sensation, the tingling, the burning she felt all over was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She wanted more, wanted Franky’s hands on her skin. Erica maneuvered their still entwined fingers down behind her back where she let go of Franky’s hands and wrapped her arms around Franky’s head, their teeth clicking against each other, as she abandoned herself to the deliciously addictive sensations.

Franky wasted little time trailing her fingers across Erica’s bare back, feeling her tremble under the touch, as she untied the bottom of the halter. She explored the exposed skin, then slowly brought her hands around to the front, cupping Erica’s breasts. Exquisite. Erica moaned again. When Franky pinched a nipple, Erica squeaked and Franky broke the kiss, blazing a fiery trail of kisses down Erica’s neck. She tugged sharply on Erica’s hair to expose more of the neck and Erica’s groin spasmed against Franky’s leg. She untied the top of Erica’s halter and it dropped to the ground unnoticed by either woman, as Franky’s kisses moved down Erica’s chest and to her breasts.

Another whimper and Franky was ready to take her there. Erica was driving her insane with the sounds she was making, the responsiveness of her body. She sucked the nipple into her mouth and Erica’s hips began a slow, even grind against Franky’s thigh. She reached down for the bottom of Erica’s skirt and pushed it up over her hips, placing one hand on Erica’s bum. French bikini knickers. Jesus. She kissed back up the chest and latched onto Erica’s mouth again as she placed both hands on Erica’s arse and pulled her crotch against her thigh hard.

Erica broke the kiss because she couldn’t breathe and keep track of all the sensations exploding across her skin and in her center. She realized she was half naked and practically dry-humping Franky’s leg. She knew they needed to stop before things got out of hand, but she was having a hard time making her body obey. Then one of Franky’s hands cupped her sex through her knickers.

“Ahhhh FUCK! Franky!” She growled trying to push the hand, those tempting fingers, away from her hot sex. She was soaking wet and she knew Franky could feel it. Her clit was hard and she knew Franky could feel that too. “Goddammit, Franky. Will you stop!?” she whispered, but couldn’t resist biting Franky’s earlobe. Franky kissed her again, long and hard, as she started to move her hand slowly against Erica’s crotch. Erica had a strong grip on Franky’s wrist as it moved between her legs, but it was unclear to either of them whether she was trying to help or hinder Franky’s efforts.

Franky brought her other hand around from Erica’s arse and moved to slide down Erica’s panties, giving Erica the break she needed to gain a moment of sanity. She grabbed both of Franky’s wrists.

“Stop, Franky! Please!”

Franky stared at her, panting. “Are you fucking kidding? I’m not stopping, Erica. And you don’t want me to.” Franky was kissing her neck again, hard, trying to maneuver her hands inside Erica’s knickers.

“Jesus, Franky!” Erica gave her a hard shove and Franky stumbled backward. “I said stop! I’m not doing this!” She knew her delivery was hardly convincing and she looked away from Franky’s intense stare as she readjusted her skirt and retrieved her top from the floor. “And no, I am not kidding.”

Franky put the fingers that had been against Erica’s sopping wet knickers into her mouth, waiting for Ericka to look up. When she did, she clenched her teeth, jaw tightening as she watched Franky lick her fingers clean. Franky knew exactly what needed to happen next.

“OK. We aren’t fucking.” Erica’s chest fell with relief as she let out the breath she’d been holding while she tied her halter. Franky continued. “Here.” She paused. Erica looked up warily.

“But Nic is too pissed to drive so you are going to have to give me a ride home.”

Erica’s eyes widened. “Please, Franky. I can’t…”

“No, Erica.” Franky’s eyes were blazing and Erica couldn’t look away. She wanted the burn. “It is time for you to stop with this bullshit, resistance shit. I have been waiting three years to be with you. I won’t fuck you here, in your parents house, with your husband in the next room. But we are fucking tonight.”

Erica sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head at the inevitability of Franky’s statement. It pained her how much she wanted this. It had taken her a solid year to stop thinking about the inmate every day, and only recently had she experienced several months without some memory of the younger woman unsettling her mostly staid life. Erica had been nearly certain she may never see Franky Doyle again at all, figured Franky had long since moved on to her next several conquests. And Erica’s safe predictable life would stay safe and predictable.

But Franky was back. Even in this one evening, Erica was scared out of her senses. And even more excited. The combination was thoroughly intoxicating and irresistible for Erica, who suddenly realized she hadn’t felt anything intensely since she had last seen Franky Doyle. And the thought that Franky had been thinking about her, waiting for her, for three years, thrilled her as well. Maybe this was more than a game for Franky, too.

“You need to stop fighting me on this. It’ll go easier on us both, I promise. And you’re going to like it, Erica. I can guarantee that.” Franky said, as she closed the distance between them again and cupped Erica’s face with one hand. “Open your eyes. Look at me. Please.”

Erica did, and was now drowning in Franky’s green eyes. Franky lost her train of thought as well as she fell into pools of blue. Finally she blinked, kissed Erica gently and rubbed a thumb across her lips.

“We can sort this, but you need to stop fighting me.” She placed one hand on Erica’s chest in the vicinity of her heart. “In here.” She paused to gauge Erica’s reaction.

Erica chuckled, pulled Franky’s hand from her chest, kissed the palm, and interlaced their fingers. “Are you seriously giving me relationship advice, Franky Doyle?” Franky grinned back. “Now back off. I need to un-muss myself before I face that room and tell Mark that I’m driving you home.” She turned and reached for the door.

Franky wrapped her arms around Erica’s waist and pulled her close, keeping her from the door for another few precious moments, kissing her neck. Smiling against her skin. “Don’t you dare disappear on me again,” she whispered, then she let Erica go.

*********************************

Franky lay on her back diagonally across the bed, Erica sprawled senseless on top of her. Franky was high as a kite—a natural high. This was easily the best day of her life.

When Erica announced to the family that she was going to put Nic to bed and drive Franky home, no one batted an eye. When they got into Erica’s white SLK-class Mercedes convertible roadster, the exact same model as Michael’s, Franky was unable to contain her laughter, and unable to explain the irony to Erica, not yet. All she shared was, My boss has this exact same car, except hers is black. She could see Erica frown, wondering why Franky knew what kind of car her boss had. But she effectively distracted her by sliding a hand over Erica’s thigh, dangerously close to her center, which caused Erica to swerve and hold onto Franky’s hand to prevent it from causing further mischief. The tingling sensation of skin on skin, the novelty of holding hands, fingers interlaced in such a casual way, distracted them both.

By the time they arrived across town at Franky’s loft, they were both completely distracted and made love once on the floor just inside the door; again on the lounge -- Erica never even noticed the view. Then they finally made it upstairs to the bed. What started out as frantic, intense thrusting and sucking turned into leisurely exploration and long, hard orgasms that, two hours later, had Erica lying across Franky, barely conscious.

Although they were only just beginning to explore each other this night, Franky had been dead on about Erica’s sexual appetites. She was able to play Erica’s body like the finely tuned instrument it was; and from her reaction, Erica had never been properly fucked in her entire life.

And it had been so easy. Sudden – Nic’s surprise dinner hijacking. Then the ease with which she wound Erica up and the fucking predictable way Erica did not think through her next steps with Franky. Just like at Wentworth, she resorted to trying to discipline Franky, when that was clearly not her role. And isolating the two of them together in a private space — like the Governor’s office — only made their respective roles more clear. The chemistry was electrifying, even though Erica didn’t understand it. Which was why she so befuddled and undone by Franky.

But Franky would sort her out. They would have a long conversation about domination and submission. Then everything would fall into place. But not now.

Now, Franky was in a moment of post-coital bliss. She had spent so much time fantasizing about sex with Erica. But the actual sex. was. mind. blowing. Franky was in deep.

She luxuriated in the feel of Erica’s weight on her as she gently caressed Erica’s back, trying not to disturb her. She marveled at the softness of Erica’s skin, the smells, the tastes of her. She loved the way they fit together, how Erica’s breasts felt against hers. It was all magical. Franky knew she would never get enough.

A ringtone interrupted her reverie. It wasn’t hers; it was downstairs and clearly Erica’s. Franky glanced over at the bedside clock, which read 00:34. Shit! That was probably Mark wondering what the fuck happened to his wife. She shifted out from underneath Erica without disturbing her – Erica was blissed out and dead to the world. Franky skipped down the stairs, grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, then searched Erica’s clothes and purse for the mobile.

She found it in a little pocket inside the handbag obviously designed to hold the mobile. _Jesus. I’m in love with a girl who has a special fucking bag with a special fucking pocket for the fucking mobile._ She grinned, mashed a few buttons, saw that there was a message from “Husband” – this elicited an out loud “Fucking hell, Erica!” from Franky. She was in love with a woman who called her partner “husband.” She took a swig of beer and headed back up the stairs.

She scooted in next to Erica and watched her sleep for a few minutes. She was so fucking beautiful. Franky didn’t want to wake her, but was very serious about not stuffing this up, not self-sabotaging the relationship. She would not start out by getting Erica into hot water on their first night together.

She leaned in and kissed Erica on the lips. Blue eyes fluttered open and a sleepy grin appeared on Erica’s face. “Again,” she demanded, turning onto her back and pulling Franky on top of her. The kiss deepened and Franky felt a smooth thigh hook high around her hip as Erica squeezed her arse, encouraging the rhythm that had become easy for them very quickly.

Franky smiled into the kiss and pulled back, forcing Erica’s hands to the sides and pinning them to the bed. “You’re insatiable, Miss Davidson.”

“And you’re very talented, Miss Doyle. With a little extra effort and a lot more study, I am sure you will go very far.”

Franky threw her head back and laughed out loud, but resisted the temptation to take Erica up on the offer. She moved to sit against the headboard, patting the spot next to her. A low chuckle rumbled her chest as she watched Erica wonder if Franky did actually think she was insatiable and had gone too far. Confused, insecure Erica was completely adorable. She passed Erica a beer and took a sip of her own. Erica took several gulps, staring at Franky.

Franky realized she had become serious, and it was showing in her expression. Her mind was already in the place where Erica had gone home. To her husband. Leaving Franky lying there alone, missing her. She furrowed her brow and saw Erica do the same.

“What just happened, Franky? Please tell me.”

Franky was horrified to find herself near tears. She took another drink, and a deep breath and looked out toward the nightscape and the bay. “I’m sorry, Erica. Your phone rang and there is a message from Mark and it’s after midnight and I don’t want you to go.” She took another drink, and a steadying breath. “And I don’t want Mark to be angry with you tonight. I want this night to be as incredible for you as it is for me. That’s all.” She was already resigning herself to Erica’s departure. The fear that Erica was going to run from her again was very present.

Erica’s mind immediately went into panic mode. How was she going to explain this? She’d been gone nearly three hours for a trip which should have taken about forty minutes – an hour if they’d lingered and chatted. But not three fucking hours. She opened her mouth to curse but was caught by the forlorn expression on Franky’s face.

Erica thought about Franky’s history. People left Franky. Erica had left Franky, brutally disappearing without a word. Not that she could have done anything about it. Surely Franky understood that, but the fact remained that she had left. Franky looked away, down at her fingernails. The vulnerability in her eyes, in her posture. It hurt Erica’s heart. Literally.

Erica suddenly felt calm. Now that she had looked at Franky, touched Franky, kissed Franky, fucked Franky, she wondered if she would be able to leave her again. Well, at least she didn’t have to tonight. She straddled Franky’s waist and sat in her lap, placing both beers on the night table. Putting one hand on each side of Franky’s face, she kissed her gently but thoroughly. “You can’t get all stuffed up about me yet, Franky Doyle. We’ve had one night together. We don’t even know what this is.” She kissed Franky again. “You need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere.”

Franky’s hands slid around Erica’s waist and stroked her lower back. She knew exactly what this was, even if Erica wasn’t ready to admit it. She wanted to push Erica back onto the bed and fuck her again. She wanted Erica to forget about Mark. And she wanted to do this – thing with Erica -- right, which meant not doing any more of the things she really wanted to do tonight.

Erica pulled back, drank from Franky’s beer, then handed it to her, still sitting in Franky’s lap. She listened to Mark’s voicemail. Blah blah, are you okay, I’m guessing you got chatty, blah blah. She dialed him back. After several rings, he answered. Clearly he had been asleep.

“Hello Husband,” she said into the mobile, nonchalantly. Not as if she was naked, straddling her gorgeous lesbian lover. Not as if she’d just had her brains fucked out properly for the first time in her life. “Sorry to wake you. Franky and I got to chatting and I had some wine and must of nodded. Sorry if I worried you. I’m just going to stay here tonight, alright? Franky and I have a lot of catching up to do.” The lie, again, came smoothly.

Franky’s hand tensed on Erica’s hip. Franky couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation. She imagined Mark responding crankily, angrily, Erica already having problems because of her. She grabbed Erica’s chin and forced Erica to look at her as Franky shook her head, mouthing, Don’t get into trouble. To Franky’s surprise, Erica shook her head back and placed Franky’s hand back on her hip as she listened to Mark speaking. She cocked her head to the side at whatever he was saying, then slid Franky’s hand further along her hip, down her backside until Franky was cupping her buttock.

“Yes – that’s a good idea. Cheers. See you in the morning,” Erica rang off, put both beers back on the bedside table and kissed Franky deeply.

“Was he really that easy?” Franky asked, the bright smile and playful demeanor returning quickly, as she realized how swiftly and naturally Erica had rationalized her absence from her husband’s bed. She wondered if Erica noticed. “If you were my wife, I would never let you stay over night with a sex-crazed lesbian.”

Erica kissed her again. “If I were your wife, we would be sex-crazed lesbians together and I would never need to spend the night with anyone but you.”

Franky saw Erica blush as self-awareness bloomed and she realized the multiple levels of meanings in that statement; a spontaneous statement. Unfiltered Erica. Franky did not take the opening to tease Erica. She wanted to encourage much more unfiltered, unfettered, free-from-inhibitions Erica. She did, though, begin to tease Erica’s opening.

Franky awoke with a smile on her face, sun blazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the other end of the flat. The realization of Erica’s weight across her back, almost completely on top of her, made the smile wider. She turned, trying to keep Erica’s body on top in the process and found herself blinking into sleepy blue eyes.

“Hi,” said Erica, grinning at least as widely as Franky.

“Hi yourself.”

“I’m going to pee and clean my teeth.” Erica moved from the bed toward the bathroom. Franky watched her naked arse. Perfect. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” Erica called looking back over her shoulder, watching Franky stare at her bare arse. She liked it.

Franky bounced out of bed and sprinted into the bathroom, closing the door in Erica’s face. She peed, removed Michael’s toothbrush from the cup on the bench and chucked into the linen closet, way into the back. She put toothpaste on hers and opened the door, offering it to Erica.

“You can use mine. Sorry, but I was about to burst and you were moving too slow.” She smiled as Erica took the toothbrush and put it into her mouth, brushing vigorously.

Fuckfuckfuck. Everything had happened so fast — hell 24 hours ago she had been having breakfast with Michael, who thankfully, had left for Sydney and wasn’t likely to be back for at least a week. She knew she would have to tell Erica about Michael, but she wanted to have time to talk about things. Everything. Together, she and Erica. Franky’s mind was racing and she eyed the room swiftly. Were there any other of Michael’s things lying about?

The door to the bathroom opened and Franky turned around, unable to keep a silly grin off her face as Erica silly grinned back at her. The toothbrush was re-pasted and Erica shoved it in Franky’s mouth.

“Hurry up,” Erica said as she wandered into Franky’s wardrobe. She selected a long shirt from one of the hangers and put it on. Clearly it did not fit Franky. Without heels on, Erica was actually a few centimeters shy of Franky’s height, but Franky was thinner. They could probably wear most of the same clothes, though. Still, this shirt was nearly to Erica’s knees. She went downstairs to look for coffee.

Franky brushed her teeth vigorously, rinsed, and threw back her head to gargle. That’s when she spotted the strip of photos of her with Michael from one of those instant-photo booths on the promenade. In one, she had her tongue in Michael’s ear. In the rest, they were kissing. In the mirror, she could see across the room, Erica coming out of the wardrobe with one of Michael’s shirts on, heading down the stairs. She grabbed herself a pair of shorts and a tank top and stumbled down the stairs, dressing as she went.

“Erica, wait.”

“Where’s your coffee?” Erica was looking through the cabinets in the kitchen. A state-of-the-art espresso machine was on the bench.

“I can explain.”

“Explain what? Come here and kiss me first,” Erica said as she leaned against the pantry door, taking in her gorgeous lover, mussed, apparently worried about something.

Franky approached her, trying to formulate her words. Erica kissed her and she forgot everything except those lips, that tongue. God, she could kiss this woman forever. Erica’s stomach growled, but she held on tighter, deepening the kiss.

Erica was completely in uncharted territory. Ten years of kissing Mark had never made her feel this way even once. Ten years of fucking Mark were obliterated by a single night in Franky’s bed. And she had no idea how this was going to work itself out. Franky had indeed blown up her life. And Erica was clear she could not go back. It was going to be a rough time for them both.

But in the moment she opted to stay with the blissful sensations Franky’s tongue and hands were causing in her mouth and on her arse as Franky lifted her onto a bar stool and began unbuttoning her shirt. She wrapped her legs tightly around Franky and pulled back from the kiss.

“We need coffee,” Franky kissed her again. “And some food.” Franky kissed her neck, but stymied by the thighs not allowing her to unbutton Erica’s shirt any further, she stopped and let Erica slide off the stool but still held her in her arms.

“Listen, Erica.” Erica knew where this was going. She knew she had no right to be angry or jealous, and she didn’t want Franky to see it on her face, so she started again looking for coffee.

“I’m kind of seeing someone.” Franky waited for a response. Erica found the coffee and busied herself at the machine. “But it’s not serious.” She approached Erica and pressed herself against Erica’s back, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Erica wanted to resist, be at least a little bit angry. And she was, but only at herself. She stopped trying to make the coffee and let herself lean back into her lover, luxuriating in the new feel of their bodies together. She wanted to get naked again, make love to Franky again. Feel her skin tingle with Franky’s touches.

She turned in the circle of Franky’s arms and saw the concerned, earnest look. Franky was actually worried about how she would feel about this. She kissed her gently.

“Oh, Franky. It’s not as if I have any right at all to have any opinion about whoever you want to sleep with.”

“But I want you to. I want you to know how much you matter to me, Erica. You’ve always mattered to me.”

“I think I’m finally starting to understand that, Franky. I should be apologizing. I’ve stuffed us up royally.” She turned back to making coffee. Franky didn’t let go of her. “Who is she by the way? And for the record, I am extremely jealous. If I see her in real life I may have to kill her. She’s fucking gorgeous.”

“Her name is Michael.”

It clicked. When Erica saw that photo in the bathroom, she was not surprised Franky had a lover. She would have been more surprised if Franky didn’t have several. What did nag at her was the familiarity of the other woman’s face. She was chiseled perfection, with violet eyes. Probably a supermodel.

But this was much worse. Erica knew exactly who Michael deMedici was. The legal community wasn’t all that big in Melbourne. And very much a community of scandal and intrigue, at least in the circles Erica walked in through her role as public defender. Michael deMedici was at the center of many scandals and intrigues. And she had sat as opposing counsel to Michael deMedici several times.

The espresso machine was hissing, and Erica turned back in Franky’s arms, studying her face. Franky still looked worried. “And how did you begin to date Michael deMedici?”

“She’s my boss.”

It was Erica’s turn to look worried. Several scenarios played out in her head, none of them good. Not only was the deMedici family dangerous, they walked a very fine line with the law and Erica was sure they had a significant illegal activities notched to their belt. They had just never been caught.

The problem, though — there were many here. Franky on probation working for an alleged criminal being one. How sure was Franky that Michael wasn’t actually in love with her? Franky just didn’t realize what effect she had on people. And who owned this flat? Even at deMedici, Franky shouldn’t be making enough salary to afford this place as a first year associate. She realized she must be wearing Michael deMedici’s shirt.

The big problem was what cases Franky was on. Please god not the state v. Malatesta. The biggest problem, the biggest potential clusterfuck, was that her office had just brought charges against a local drug lord. His attorney was Michael deMedici. They were currently opposing counsel. If Franky was working on that case with Michael, they had already breached an ethical line and, by law, would need to disclose their affair.

Oddly, Erica wasn’t even worried about that at the moment. She already had her mind on the long game with Franky. They needed to spend time together, to really get to know each other, understand what they were in for together. These cases could go on for months — years even. If they were caught out as opposing counsel sleeping together, they would both be disbarred. For Franky, the deMedici might have a more permanent solution. Hell, if Michael was actually in love with Franky…

“Erica. What are you thinking?” Franky pressed her forehead to Erica’s. ‘Talk to me.”

“God, Franky.” She sighed. “So many things. But let’s have coffee and food and talk a bit. Then I need to go home.”


	4. Immoveable Objects

Franky sat at her cubicle at deMedici law. All first year associates had cubicles in the middle of the sprawling office while the senior attorneys had offices around the edges, with windows. DeMedici Law occupied the 27-30th floor of a modern high rise in downtown Melbourne. First year associates and senior partners were on the 27th and 28th floor. Some on the 29th. Partners on the 29th. DeMedici family partners were on the 30th floor, with the executive conference room. Franky’s cubicle was on the 30th floor, outside of Michael’s office. There were four attorneys supporting each partner, that worked on the 30th floor. Franky was the only one that was in her first year at the firm.  
  
No one actually knew she was fucking the boss. They knew she was special, but Michael was just so ice cold all the time; and when she was seen with a “date” it was always a man. In one of their many liaisons they had talked about Michael’s sexuality, which was very fluid and often a tool used to provoke her mother. Being seen in the front of the local society pages “dating” someone notorious never failed to set her mother off.  
  
The other attorney’s assigned to support Michael had good reason to be jealous even if they didn’t know about the sex. Michael was cold and indifferent to everyone. She seemed to actually like Franky and was very clearly mentoring her. No one else got that kind of treatment. It made Franky a target in the office.  
  
Nothing she couldn’t handle — fairly tame, actually, compared to the things that went on in prison. It was just a distraction, the political backstabbing and brinkmanship; and Franky was a good lawyer. She knew she would become a fantastic attorney with Michael backing her. So she let the office politics roll off her back.  
  
What was potentially very worrisome, though, was the prospect of ending up as opposing counsel to Erica. Fortunately, Franky wasn’t on the state v. Malatesta case, but she figured it was only a matter of time before she was on some case opposite Miss Davidson. She couldn’t bear to think of her as that vanilla fuck’s Mrs., even though Erica had changed her name.  
  
She spent some time reviewing all of the cases where Michael was lead, not just the ones Franky was assigned to. Three cases where the state brought charges against a deMedici client. Erica was only PD for the one. Thank god. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as big of a deal as Erica thought.  
  
She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, giving herself the luxury of replaying sex with Erica the other night in her mind. She was unbelievably delicious. Every inch of her. Franky shuddered, thinking about how Erica’s pussy clenched around her fingers. How hard she liked it. Three fingers had her moaning like a cat, and when Franky had fucked her hard and fast, arm moving like a jack hammer as she sucked on Erica’s clit, she had squirted, orgasming not once but three times. And even after that, with a bit more very, very gentle swipes of her tongue, again, her entire body vibrating as if she was going to levitate. Franky smiled to herself, picked up her mobile and wandered down to the other end of the suite, away from the cubicles. She dialed Erica.  
  
“Franky.” Franky could hear the sigh.  
  
“I was thinking about you squirting in my face. I want to do that again, make you come in my mouth.” She heard a sharp intake of breath, pictured the blush working it’s way up Erica’s neck, across her cheeks and to her hairline.  
  
“Jesus, Franky. I can’t… You can’t just…”  
  
“Can I see you tonight?”  
  
“No. I have a dinner party.”  
  
“Do you have a date?”  
  
“Franky.” That exasperated sigh. “Hold on a second, I need to close my door.”  
  
Franky heard some rustling and then a click.  
  
“Franky Doyle, you have completely destroyed my focus for the day.”  
  
“Don’t tell me I’m the only one thinking about how fantastically fuckable you are. How unbelievable having sex with me is.”  
  
“Of course I’ve been thinking about it. About you, Franky.” She paused for a moment. “This is going to be complicated. I don’t have a lot of girlfriends that I spend time with socially. I work a lot.”  
  
“Well now you do have a girlfriend that you will be seeing a lot. Sexually.” Franky grinned. She could feel Erica’s vexation. “Why don’t you meet me at my flat now? It’s four o’clock. I can make you come at least three times and you can still be home by six. When is your dinner party?”  
  
“Seven. It’s at seven o’clock. I can’t even believe I’m considering this. How is it that a first year associate, even boss’s pet, can leave the office at three?”  
  
“Michael’s out of town. I was bored after you left on Saturday and spent a lot of time working over the weekend. I’m in a good place to take a bit of a break. Especially if it means I get to lick your…”  
  
“Franky!”  
  
“I’m leaving now. When you get to the garage, punch in my code and I’ll buzz you in. Guest parking is a hard left once you enter. Remember?” She rang off.  
  
Erica sat looking at her mobile. She wasn’t going. This was crazy, running off in the middle of the day for sex with Franky.  She was going to have to set some boundaries, and also think of a cover story for Mark. Something that sounded plausible given their bland, pedantic lifestyle.  
  
Twenty five minutes later she was in Franky’s arms.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Franky went back to her cubicle, grabbed her briefcase, and headed for the elevator. She could feel the other attorneys glaring daggers at her back. But fuck them. She thought about calling Michael to let her know she wouldn’t be at her desk. As she reached her car, her mobile rang. She got in and switched on bluetooth. It was Michael.  
  
“DeMedici.”  
  
“Doyle. Why are you not at your desk?”  
  
Franky realized she must have just missed Michael’s call. Damn. Please don’t have something urgent. She really didn’t want to have to call off her afternoon assignation with Erica. “I’m heading to the loft. The kids can be unbearable when you’re away. I’ll work from home today, Honey.” She waited. She’d never complained about the other attorneys before, but she was going to have to come up with some consistent excuse to get away from the office if she was going to be spending time with Erica.  
  
“They calling you names, Doyle? I didn’t realize you were so thin-skinned,” Michael said with heavy sarcasm. “What’s really going on?”  
  
Franky deflected. “Why did you call? Do you need something? Should I head back?” she asked, her spirits sinking.  
  
Michael was quiet. Franky tipped her head back against the headrest. _Please say no. Please say no._  
  
“Naaaaa,” she said. “I just had a minute.” She was quiet again. “I think I miss you, Doyle.”  
  
Franky punched the ignition, her eyebrows going up. “Don’t tell me the Ice Queen is melting?”  
  
“No. Just sex starved. I may have to bring you next time I’m out for more than five days,” she said. “This case is unbearably dull, and there’s no one remotely fuckable in the vicinity. I need stimulation.”  
  
“Are you someplace private? I can talk you through it,” Franky grinned to herself. _But I’ve only got 15 minutes._  
  
Michael chuckled. Franky felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Michael’s voice was like liquid velvet. Franky had to admit that it did arouse her, hearing Michael laugh like that.  
  
“In the middle of the downtown courthouse. That would be quite the spectacle.” She chuckled again. “I like your spirit, though Doyle. You always bring me solutions.”  
  
“I try.”  
  
“I might take you up on that later. You better be alone tonight.”  
  
“No worries there, deMedici. You’ll have me all to yourself.”  
  
******************************************  
  
At exactly 3:35pm, Franky was on top of Erica on the bed in the loft, kissing her deeply, holding her wrists tightly together over her head and swiftly unbuttoning her blouse with the other hand. She pulled the blouse out of Erica’s pants and pushed her bra up, exposing a nipple, which was soon between Franky’s front teeth.  
  
Erica’s brain exploded with the sensation of the slight pain of  the nip and then the softness of Frankie’s lips and tongue as the sucked earnestly at the erect nub. She felt her other nipple hardening of it’s own accord and Franky unbuttoned her pants, sliding her hand down, cupping Erica’s sex. She pressed into Franky’s hand, already wet as her knickers slid across her clit under Franky’s ministrations.  
  
“Aaaaah fuck, Franky!” she moaned as Franky bit her again. “Wait. Wait.” She struggled against the hand holding her wrists. How did Franky get so strong?  
  
Franky stopped and looked up at her, trying to gauge if she was serious. “You mean it?”  
  
“Yes. Just let me get undressed. I have to wear these clothes home and possibly to the dinner. They can’t be rumpled and smelling like sex.”  
  
_Seventy two hours earlier as Erica prepared to leave Franky’s flat, after their first sex encounter, she had learned something critical to maintaining a level of discretion about this affair._  
  
_She had finally, reluctantly, separated herself from Franky and gone to collect her clothing from downstairs in front of the door, where she had been swiftly relieved of it the night before. She picked up the now very rumpled linen skirt and halter. They smelled of sex._  
  
_“Shit! Shit!”_  
  
_Franky came down the stairs, once again clad in shorts and a tank top. Erica was momentarily distracted by those incredibly toned, tan legs. And the bra-less breasts distinct under the ribbed cotton of her top. Those breasts were coming closer. Franky put two fingers under Erica’s chin, lifting her face up until they made eye contact._  
  
_“I like you ogling me.” She kissed her. “But clearly you can’t wear that. Let’s get you something to put on.” She threw Erica’s mussed clothing onto the kitchen bench. “Just say you spilled something, which is technically true, and left it for me to wash. That gives me an excuse to see you again.”_  
  
_Erica arrived at her parents house a short time later in blue denim jeans, a white button down boy’s shirt and dirty white chuck taylor’s. All Franky’s clothes. She liked being in Franky’s clothes. She reached into the back pocket where Franky had stuffed her knickers while kissing her one final time at the door before walking her down to the garage. The knickers weren’t there. She’d gone back out to search the car when her mobile pinged. “I kept your knickers.” It was a text from Franky. She smiled and deleted it immediately._  
  
_Lesson #1:  get a burner mobile for exclusive use with Franky. No one needed to see the number of calls and texts between she and Franky, let alone the content._  
  
_When she entered the kitchen, through the garage, the same way Nic and Franky had the evening before, the entire family was around the table enjoying a late brunch. Conversation stopped as they all turned to stare. Mark got up from the table and came toward her._  
  
_“Well, that’s an interesting look. Rather tomboyish.” He stood arms-length from her, looking her up and down._  
  
_“I spilled. I had to borrow Franky’s clothes.”_  
  
_“It’s cute.” He cocked his head to the side, staring at her intently._  
  
_She moved past him to the table and sat down, grabbing a muffin and pouring herself some juice._  
  
_“In fact, you’re positively glowing. Slept well, did you?”_  
  
_Freshly fucked is more like it, she thought. But she nodded, unable to speak at the moment as her mouth was full of muffin. Purposefully. There wasn’t anything she could say that was going to make any sense at all. She hadn’t anticipated the scrutiny the clothing would bring. She should have. Erica didn’t even own a pair of jeans. And she’d barely bothered to look at herself in the mirror before she’d left, being completely occupied looking at Franky. They had coffee, talked briefly about Franky’s employ with deMedici law, shared a mango, then shared a shower. Which turned into sex and then more showering. She had left wearing Franky’s clothing, smelling of her shampoo, her body products. She hadn’t thought about being back with her family at all. And she was unnerved, afraid that her infidelity was written all over her face. And body._  
  
_“Freshly fucked is more like it,” Nic joked next to her. Erica jabbed her sharply with an elbow._  
  
_“Language at the table, Veronica!” admonished her mother from behind the Sunday paper._  
  
_“Owwww! Sorry. Jesus, Erica!”_  
  
_Erica’s throat went dry and she couldn’t swallow. Was it really that obvious? She stood up still chewing the muffin and headed down the corridor toward the bathroom, trying to swallow. She turned on the light and looked at herself in the mirror._  
  
_It was true. She was glowing, She looked happy and well rested, though. Invigorated actually. Was this the freshly fucked look? She had no idea. She’d never had such a thoroughly satisfying sexual experience in her life. She smiled, as the sensory memory of Franky’s touch rippled across her skin. She closed her eyes and could see Franky’s smile, and it calmed her._  
  
_Lesson #2: Own the confidence and clarity the sex with Franky gave her. Just own it._  
  
_She flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and strode confidently back into the kitchen resuming her place at the table. “I did sleep well, as a matter of fact.” Nic eyed her warily. “Franky has a terrific, California king sized bed.” Which was true. “And she doesn’t steal the doona, or kick, or fart.” Again, technically true. “I could get used to it.”_  
  
_Vince snorted milk out of his nose. Nic giggled. Then everyone started laughing._  
  
_“Everyone’s a critic,” Mark said, winking at her. He picked up the sports section and the conversation shifted back to normal Davidson brunch banalities._  
  
Franky stopped her ministrations and let Erica up.  
  
“Last time I went home I was wearing your clothes. This time I don’t have an excuse to be wearing anything other than what I left the house in.”  
  
Franky knew that. Why didn’t she think of that before, and undress Erica before they got to the bed? She did a gut check. Was she already trying to sabotage this?  
  
“I’m sorry, Erica. I should have been more thoughtful.” Franky stood up and began to help Erica undress, sneaking in strategically placed kisses as she pulled the clothing from Erica’s body and took it into the wardrobe, hanging it neatly on a hanger. When she returned to the bed Erica was there waiting for her maddeningly covered by the sheet.  
  
“Let me see you,” Franky said in a hushed tone. Erica pulled back the sheet and watched Franky look at her. There was possessiveness in the gaze that raked her up and down. She liked it. She began to crawl across the bed toward Franky.  
  
“Stop. What are you doing?”  
  
Erica stopped at the command and sat on her knees. “I want to undress  you, Franky. Please?”  
  
Jesus. The girl was a natural. They were going to have to have the BDSM talk. Soon.  
  
She grinned rakishly and nodded. Erica stood in front of Franky, pushing her jacket from her shoulders. It was tailored, she noticed, and hugged Franky’s curves perfectly while at the same time looking the pinnacle of professionalism. Clearly Michael was buying Franky things. Expensive things. Was she paying for this loft? What kind of car was Franky driving?  
  
“Hey,” Franky said softly, kissing her on the lips. “You went away there for a minute. What’s going on?”  
  
She hesitated. Did she even have the right to ask?  
  
“Come on,” Franky coaxed her. “I know this look. This is where you get serious and we stop having fun. Just talk to me.” She kissed Erica’s forehead, and commenced undressing herself while Erica considered this.  
  
Erica took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to work at all if she tried to pretend she wasn’t jealous. It would be equally insane for Franky to pretend Erica wasn’t married. But she also knew defensive Franky. Defensive Franky could be cruel, delivering sharp, critical psychological and emotional analysis with devastating effect.  
  
“Does Michael buy your clothes? Does she own this flat?” She tried not to look petulant. She did not succeed.  
  
Franky paused in pulling off her pants. She had boy shorts on underneath. She looked at Erica, who now refused to meet her eye. After kicking off the pants and  sliding off her shorts, she closed the distance between them. She put a hand on each side of Erica’s face, forcing her to look up.  
  
And it was there, that look. The sharp, cruel defensiveness. Erica closed her eyes and braced herself.  
  
She was shocked that instead of a biting comment about her marital status, or about the reality of limits of their budding relationship, Franky kissed her. Hard. It hurt but it also felt good. Something about the pain heightened the pleasure for her. She didn’t understand it but she had a feeling Franky did. She seemed to give it to her exactly when she needed it. Erica grabbed on to Franky’s hips, trying to hold herself steady while the kiss went on and on. She eagerly gave in, pulling Franky closer until she could feel their breasts pressed together.  
  
Franky slid her hands into Erica’s hair, clutched at the nape and yanked her hair back forcefully, pulling their bodies apart.  
  
“Ahhhh! Franky!” Erica cried out.  
  
Franky spun her around, still holding her hair with one hand. Erica’s hands covered Franky’s, trying to pull Franky’s fingers away from her scalp. Franky pressed herself against Erica’s back and licked her earlobe.  
  
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Franky hissed in her ear, then kissed her neck. “But no, Michael does not buy my clothes. She gave me this one suit. One suit, Erica.”  
  
Erica was panting and afraid. Then Franky slid two fingers down into her sex, one on each side of her clit and massaged her there, tugging the sensitive nub gently. Erica realized she was soaking wet, practically dripping. Franky suddenly let her go and Erica fell forward onto the bed. She turned quickly, scrambling back away from Franky.  
  
Franky knelt on the edge of the bed as Erica scooted just out of reach. Her breathing was ragged.  
  
“Do you know what a safe word is, Erica?”  
  
Erica shook her head in the negative. She couldn’t seem to find her voice. She couldn’t tell if Franky was going to fuck her or fight her.  
  
“It’s a signal, a word used in BDSM. Do you know what BDSM is?”  
  
Erica nodded in the affirmative. Franky grinned wickedly.  
  
“Good girl. What happens between you and me, what makes our energy so intense, is that we share a kink. We are so, so fucking compatible. Trust me.”  
  
Erica was listening, her breathing slowed.  
  
“This tattoo on my arm. Do you know what it is?” Erica shook her head. “It’s a dominatrix. I’m a dom. You, Erica Davidson are my perfect submissive.”  
  
Erica shook her head. No. I’m not doing this. I can’t do this. This is perverted and sick and twisted and…  
  
“And before you go to that suburban vanilla wife place in your head, listen to me. It’s not wrong. I can show you how to do this. The sub has the power, Erica. The safe word stops the kink, stops the game. Whenever you say the safe word, I stop immediately. But until you say it, we play. A lot. What we did the other night doesn’t even scratch the surface.”  
  
Erica had gone still. Franky waited for it to sink in. For her to understand that the game was really on her terms. Erica could pull the plug at any time, so to speak. She could also raise the stakes as high as she wanted to.  
  
“Your safe word is my middle name. Nicole. Francesca Nicole. You say either or both of those words and I stop. Ok? You have to trust me. I would never hurt you intentionally Erica.” _I love you._  
  
Erica didn’t move. She watched Franky, waiting for internal alarm bells that told her to get the fuck out of there. That this was truly mad. But what she saw was vulnerability. What she heard sounded almost like a plea, given the way Franky had just laid things out. If Erica could stop it any time, if she had control, Franky would only being doing what Erica wanted done. She took a deep breath, realizing she hadn’t been breathing at all and she was starting to get dizzy.  
  
“What’s your safe word, Erica?” Franky thought she saw the ghost of a grin, tease Erica’s lips.  
  
“Francesca Nicole.”  
  
Franky’s entire being lit up. There was the smile that melted Erica’s heart. She was powerless against it. She smiled back.  
  
“Lay down.”  
  
Erica did as she was told, feeling thrilled in a way she didn’t expect. She heard Franky rummaging around in the bureau and she leaned up on one elbow to watch.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Franky had pulled two long, silk scarves out of a drawer and turned back to the bed.  
  
“You are a very, very bad girl, Miss Davidson. Didn’t I tell you to lie down? I know I didn’t give you permission to talk.” One slim eyebrow arched up.  
  
Erica lay back down, slowly, watching Franky climb across the bed.  
  
“For that, I’m going to have to tie you up and spank you.”  
  
Erica looked alarmed. “Bu..” Franky pressed her hand over Erica’s mouth, silencing her.  
  
“You talk when I say you can talk.” She wound one scarf around Erica’s right hand, not actually tying it but closing Erica’s fist around it, then tied the other end securely to the bars in the frame. Erica realized she could actually just let go and be free of it.  
  
She didn’t want to be free of it.  
  
Franky tied the other hand similarly, then got onto all fours, her face inches from Erica’s but not actually touching any part of her body.  
  
“Sexy noises are okay but no words.”  
  
Before Erica had a chance to respond, Franky kissed her. Gently at first, but then deeper, exploring her thoroughly, letting Erica do the same. The kiss went on. And on. Erica wanted more. She wanted Franky’s hands on her, fingers in her. She wanted that tongue to go to work on her pussy. She whimpered, arching her body up towards Franky’s, pulling on her faux restraints for leverage.  
  
Franky chuckled into Erica’s mouth and ended the kiss completely. She stared down at a now desperate Erica, squirming Erica. Franky sucked one nipple into her mouth, and let it go. Then the other. Erica moaned. Franky laid down next to Erica, still not touching her. Erica glared at her. Franky stared back, then eyed the faux restraints, then returned her gaze to tormented Erica, who still didn’t let go of the scarves, but yanked on them in frustration. Franky waited a few more seconds, then put two fingers in the little dip at the center of Erica’s collarbone. With excruciating slowness, she drew those fingers down Erica’s body, the lightest of touches, the barest of contact, down between her breasts, across her belly button to the top of her slit. Again, those two fingers slid along either side of her clit.  
  
Erica was on fire, trembling all over. The slow line Franky drew down her body was radiating electricity out to every inch of her skin. Even her scalp tingled. She couldn’t stand this. Why didn’t Franky just fuck her? The anticipation was unbearable. She bit her bottom lip. When Franky tugged her clit, Erica’s hips shot off the bed seeking that pressure. Seeking relief. The pressure stopped and Erica sobbed once. Then those fingers slammed into her pussy, all the way in, Franky’s palm smacking against her clit. Erica cried out, the orgasm hit her so hard and unexpectedly. Too soon, those fingers were gone.  
  
“Franky, please!” Erica moaned.  
  
“Yeah, turn over, Miss Davidson. Now is your spanking for speaking out of turn.”  
  
Erica had barely recovered from the fog of her orgasm when Franky’s words penetrated her haze. She stopped trying to think, to make sense of this. She was still trembling as she turned onto her stomach and presented her arse to Franky.  
  
Franky couldn’t believe it. Erica just naturally flowed from one sub pose to another, as if she’d been doing it all her life. She hadn’t let go of the scarves. And when she turned, she’d presented that beautiful bum up like a gift. Franky was ready to come herself, without Erica even touching her. That had never happened before.  
  
She paused a moment, leaning over to whisper in Erica’s ear. “You are so. Fucking. Perfect.”  
  
Then she smacked Erica’s arse on one side, leaving an angry red hand print. Erica hissed and squirmed, but didn’t let go of her restraints. In fact, she poked her bum up a bit higher in anticipation of another smack. Franky did not make her wait. Erica now had a matching print on the other side.  
  
Franky couldn’t take any more. She lay down next to Erica, sliding one arm under her ribcage while she nudged Erica’s legs apart with her knee and entered her with one finger, then two, then three stroking a slow steady rhythm which Erica matched, thrusting against Franky’s hand. Franky pressed her swollen clit against Erica’s hip as she increased the rhythm. Then faster. Now she was fucking Erica hard as she ground herself against Erica’s hip. Erica’s breathing became ragged and she began to sob. Faster. Harder. Franky thought she was going to implode and then Erica was coming, and coming and coming and Franky climaxed with her. They both collapsed, slick with sweat and other juices.  
  
When she could catch her breath, she kissed Erica’s shoulder and unwound the restraints, gently turning her lover over. Erica was crying, her eyes closed, tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
“Oh, Baby.” Franky stroked her face. She pulled her into a full body embrace. “I have you. It’s alright.” She rained soft kisses all over Erica’s face. “I’m here. I got you.”  
  
Erica was still shaking. She opened her eyes. Franky’s face was inches from her, concerned green eyes peering at her. She put her arms around Franky’s neck.  
  
“I didn’t know,” she whispered, hiccuping. “I didn’t… How could…”  
  
Franky kissed her to stop Erica trying to rationalize anything right now. They just needed to feel. It was a gentle kiss, full of love and tenderness.  
  
She turned over,  pulling Erica on top of her, kissed her head. “I know, Baby. I know. Christ I love you.”  
  
Erica didn’t hear her. She had fallen into a boneless, blissful, sleep.


	5. Irrepressible Smile

  
Erica was sitting at her desk in the Public Defenders office, tapping the end of her pen against the desktop as she listened to one of her associates trying to troubleshoot their most pressing case. She knew the case upside down, but was trying to let Carolyn — Car —  figure it out on her own. And she wasn’t really listening anyway. She was agitated.  
  
She hadn’t seen Franky in over two weeks, let alone kissed her or had sex. Franky’s boss had come back and she had been working late hours, not getting home until nearly midnight. Michael deMedici seemed to be very demanding, wanting Franky at her side constantly. The weekends came and went, but Mark decided they should spend the weekend in Perth. So they did. The next weekend, Michael took Franky to Auckland on her private jet.  
  
Usually they managed to find some time to talk at least once during the day. They had both bought burner phones to which only Erica and Franky had the numbers. Lots of lurid texting. But tender, too. Erica missed Franky; and it was clear Franky felt the same. They managed to talk late at night, usually, after Mark had gone to sleep and Erica went out to the lanai for privacy. There were several nights that Erica hadn’t heard from Franky at all, and she knew she was with Michael. Those nights were maddening. Erica knew it was pointless, but she was jealous of Michael deMedici, all the time she got to spend with Franky.  
  
Erica stood abruptly, startling her colleague. “I need fifteen minutes, okay?”  
  
Car nodded in assent and bent her head over the papers scattered across the table across from the desk. Erica opened a drawer and pulled out her burner, then went outside the building. _Maybe I should take up smoking. Gives me plausible excuse to get out. Or maybe I should just figure out how to see Franky and stop acting like a caged animal._  
  
When she reached the sidewalk in front of her building, she speed-dialed her lover. It went to voicemail. Erica felt like smashing the phone into the sidewalk. She hadn’t heard from Franky in almost two days. A couple of apologetic voice mails, but Erica was past due for the real thing. She dialed Franky’s regular mobile. It rang twice.  
  
“Hey, hi.” Erica almost cried at finally hearing Franky’s voice in real time. “Is everything right? Are you right?”  
  
“No!” Erica exclaimed loud enough for several people walking by to turn and look. She quieted her voice. “Where have you been? I want to see you!” She could practically see Franky’s cheeky smirk.  
  
“Working, lover girl.” She chuckled, her voice going down to a whisper. “Look, I can’t really talk, but you know I miss the fuck out of you, right?”  
  
“Franky…” Erica moaned. “When can we see each other? Even for a few minutes — can’t we just meet for coffee?” She realized she sounded whiney and desperate, and hated it.  
  
“I’ll work something out, call you later. Gotta go.”  
  
Erica stared at her mobile, frustrated, taking deep breaths. She wanted to cry. How did things escalate so quickly? Could she really fallen so hard for Franky in a matter of days?  
  
She leaned against the building facade and watched traffic as she examined the ache in her chest. And she realized it actually wasn’t so unfamiliar, that ache. She’d had it for years. It had started when Franky had kissed her the first time. The longing she was feeling now was due to three years of repressed desire. What had happened when Nic brought Franky home for dinner had been three years in the making, not a momentary loss of control.  
  
She shouldn’t have married Mark. She knew it when she set the date. She knew it when she said the vows. But she had convinced herself otherwise, that she was a toy for Franky inside Wentworth and that she belonged in the vanilla world Mark provided her. Even though deep down she hoped that Franky had been in love with her, that brash and cocky demeanor had deceived her at first. All that teasing. But Franky had been vulnerable with her, too. When she talked about her father with Erica; when Erica accused her of leaking stories to the media. And when Erica had sent her to the slot for drugs, she saw the shocked, wounded betrayal on Franky’s face and it nearly broke her heart. Each of those times, Erica had known that what was between them wasn’t a game.  
  
And she had thrown it back in Franky’s face by leaving and then getting married. Yet Franky had come back to her anyway. They needed to talk. And she needed to say something to Mark, to give herself some space to see Franky openly. With Franky’s schedule, she needed to make herself available when Franky was available. She didn’t want to lose Franky this time. Maybe it was just time to stop lying. To everyone.  
  
She went back to her office and sat at her desk, holding one finger up to shush her associate when the young woman started to talk. She rang Mark.  
  
“Hey Wife!” He was always so pleasant with her, even though she hadn’t let him touch her since Franky had come back into her life. “How are you going?”  
  
“Mark.” She didn’t call him Husband this time. It was a game they had started playing after she had left Wentworth and told Mark she was ready to set a date. She had spent a lot of time in front of the bathroom mirror in the mornings, trying to convince herself that it made sense, saying, “He is my husband,” to herself over and over aloud. Mark had caught her at it and started calling her “Wife.” He had no way of realizing that the inner monologue Erica was trying to drown was, “He’s not Franky Doyle.”  
  
She suddenly felt silly playing that game, now that the jig was up. Mark was no Franky. There was no Husband for Erica. There was no contest.  
  
“Mark,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m staying after to meet Franky Doyle at the pub down the street here. I’ll see you later tonight. Don’t wait dinner, alright?”  
  
“You want some company? Maybe Nic could join us, like a double date. She seemed pretty gone on Franky.”  
  
Erica had been about to take a sip of water and instead poured it down the front of her blouse. _“Shit!”_ She brushed at the water and looked up to see Carolyn staring at her. “Um, no. That’s not a good idea. Franky’s not interested in Nic.” _She’s interested in me._  
  
“Well, how about Shan?” Shannon was Mark’s sister. Nice looking eligible lesbian. No reason not to try that, was there?  
  
“Mark! Stop match-making for Franky. She’s a big girl — she can find a date on her own.”  
  
“Well, I just thought, if you are going to start spending time with her socially, maybe we could all go out together. I’d like to get to know her too. Why don’t you ask her over  for dinner.”  
  
_Oh God no._ How did this simple conversation get so off track? The last thing she wanted was for Mark and Franky to be in the same room. There was no way the sexual tension between she and Franky would go unnoticed.  
  
“Not tonight, Mark. I’m going to meet my friend for drinks. Just _me_.” _Jesus_. Were they codependent? Erica had to admit she hadn’t noticed, but come to think of it, they really didn’t do anything separately.  
  
Mark was quiet for a moment. “Okay.” He clearly wasn’t happy. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how she looked at you when Nic brought her home for dinner. I don’t think you should encourage her.”  
  
“It’s just a _fucking_ drink, Mark! _Jesus_.” She was overreacting. She knew it but she was that frustrated.  
  
Mark rang off. Erica rested her forehead on the desk and sighed. Then she remembered her colleague, still waiting at the table. She looked up and Car pretended to be busy with the papers, but Erica knew she had heard everything. She got up and took a seat on the other side of the table.  
  
“Sorry about that, Car.” The younger woman just nodded and read the document in front of her intently. “Are you married?”  
  
Car looked up at her and blushed. “No. Sorry. I never realized your Mark was the jealous type.”  
  
“He usually isn’t,” Erica explained. “I don’t know what’s got into him tonight. But let’s get through this. Then you can go home and I can go have that drink.”  
  
“I bet I can guess what’s got into him. You know Franky Doyle, Ms. Pearson?”  
  
Erica nodded slowly, wondering where the hell this was going.  
  
“She is so incredibly gorgeous. Everyone has a crush on her, both the guys and girls in our class. And now that she’s with deMedici, she’s out and about with her boss. The pair of them together are to die for.”  
  
Erica’s mouth fell open. Had she been under a rock for the past year? Who was “everyone”?  
  
“Wait. Who is everyone? You went to school with Franky? How have I not noticed this?”  
  
“I don’t know how you could’ve missed it, Ms. Pearson, except you do seem very focused on your causes, and focused on work. Not much interested in socializing. But yeah, we were in the same class. Those green eyes. Perfect body. When she smiles, you just melt. And she’s a fantastic flirt — she can make anyone feel special.”  
  
Erica stared at the young woman. She tried to feign nonchalance. “Did she make you ‘feel special,’ Car?”  
  
Car blushed. “I wish. I’m a boring hetero like you, but even I would have gone out with her. She didn’t give me the time of day, mostly. She spent most of her time with your sister, “ Erica’s eyebrow arched. “I don’t think anything ever happened, even though Nic was so obvious," Car added quickly. "But I think maybe not Franky’s type.” Car shuffled papers and lowered her voice, conspiratorially. “There’s a rumor that Franky and Michael deMedici are sleeping together. Probably more Franky’s speed. But from what I understand, the deMedici woman gets around.”  
  
Erica leaned back in her chair raising both eyebrows now. She was definitely not going to get into a conversation with an associate about Franky’s sex life.  
  
“Gossip is not appropriate in this office and I won’t have it.” Erica shook her head trying both to clear it of images of Franky having sexual access to an entire law school class of young women and to wrap her head around Franky’s seemingly rock-star status in the legal community. At least amongst the first year associates. Knowing Franky’s charisma, it probably wouldn’t be long until a lot more people noticed.  
  
This was going to be complicated.  
  
“Sorry,” Car murmured, but couldn’t check her curiosity and perked up again. “So how do you know Franky, Ms. Pearson, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
  
“I was a social worker at Wentworth for nearly two years while Franky was there.” She left out the part about her three-month stint as Governor. “I ran some education programs and tutored Franky. We got through HSC and a year of law school before I left.” She realized that Car was now staring at her a bit star struck.  
  
“Holy shit, Ms. Pearson!” Car exclaimed excitedly. “What’s she like? Are you going to start hanging out with her? Can you, like, introduce me sometime?”  
  
Erica was slightly taken aback. There was no reason she shouldn’t invite the girl to have drinks with them. Except that she wanted Franky to herself. Which was seemingly going to be impossible in public spaces.  
  
She thought about it briefly and realized she did need to socialize their relationship. Normalize it. Maybe then the sex thing wouldn’t be so obvious if they were a familiar presence out and about the town. Just a couple of girls having drinks.  
  
“Sure. Why don’t you come down to Smith’s with me after work and I’ll introduce you then?” She hoped the girl would say no. Hell — she hadn’t even confirmed tonight with Franky and if the past week was any indication, she wouldn’t be seeing Franky tonight anyway.  
  
“Oh my god! Totally! You really don’t mind? God! Thank you!”  
  
Erica’s disguised her disappointment by refocusing on the work. “Fine, now let’s wrap this up.”  
  
Her phone rang on the desk and Car jumped up to answer it. “Public Defender’s office, Carolyn Jay speaking.” She paused as the other person spoke. “Can I tell her who’s calling?” Then she blushed a bright crimson from the roots of her ginger hair to the neckline of her mandarin blouse. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Ms. Pearson! It’s Franky Doyle!”  
  
Erica was both dismayed at this effect on Car and pleased that Franky had called back so quickly. She went around and sat at her desk, turning her back to Carolyn. The goofy smile on Erica’s face would have given her away immediately. “Hey,” she said softly into the phone.  
  
“God, you have the fucking sexiest voice, Erica. What are wearing?”  
  
Erica deflected, even as she grinned at the phone like a lovesick fool. “Can you meet tonight, Smith’s on Baylor?”  
  
“Actually, yes. But you didn’t answer my question. What are you wearing? Can you come back to my place? I so, so, so need to fuck you senseless.”  
  
It was Erica’s turn to blush. “What time?”  
  
“Oh, so straight to my place then? How about 7:00pm?”  
  
“At Smith's, Franky. And I’m bringing my associate, Carolyn Jay. She says you were in the same class. Seems you’re something of a rock star in the up-and-coming set.”  
  
“Aye, Erica! No! I don’t want to share my time with you tonight. I’m not ready to share!” She sounded like a five year old. Erica thought it was adorable. “Tell her to piss off!”  
  
“Don’t be such a baby. Enjoy the stroke. Besides, maybe you’ll behave properly with a chaperone. Seven at Swifts?”  
  
Franky sighed. Erica tried not to shiver. “How about half past six? Swifts is downstairs in my building. It’ll take me all of eight minutes to get down there.”  
  
It was Erica’s turn to sigh. “That’s across the street from my office.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You’ve been over there for nearly three months and you couldn’t walk across the street and say hello, Franky?” Erica was irritated. All that wasted time!  
  
“I wasn’t ready.” Erica could hear Franky breathing. She waited. “Look. You’re the one who fucking left in the first place. That hurt, Erica.”  
  
Erica winced, realizing her irritation was severely misplaced. She was the one, actually, who had a lot of explaining to do. There just hadn’t been time yet.  
  
“And we’re not having this conversation now,” Franky finished. “See you soon.” She rang off.  
  
Well, at least the silly grin had disappeared. She turned back to face Car, who was looking at her expectantly. “You think we can get through this in two hours? We have a date with Franky at 6:30pm.”  
  
Car practically bounced in her chair. “For sure, Ms. Pearson. For sure!”  
  
**************************************************  
  
Franky watched Erica make her way through the crowded bar. She had managed to secure a booth in the back through sheer luck. Every few feet someone stopped Erica to speak to her, so it was taking awhile for her to get to the back of the pub.  
  
She liked looking at Erica. The girl was golden — the soft curves of her face, that shy smile. The well-tailored suit didn’t do the perfect body underneath it justice. But Franky was okay with that. She saw several men ogling Erica as she moved passed them and grinned. _No one is touching that except me_ , she thought. _Well, and Mark. Yuck_. She frowned. Erica finally spotted her in the back and stopped briefly. Franky knew the feeling. Erica took her breath away as well. A wide grin split her face as she moved with purpose toward where Franky sat, ignoring other admirers.  
  
As Erica reached the table, Franky rose from her seat and quickly engulfed Erica in a bear hug, then dipping her back as if to kiss her full on the mouth. But the comically wide-eyed look of fear on Erica’s face caused Franky to break the charade. She laughed and pulled Erica upright, then kissed her chastely on the cheek.  
  
Erica practically fell into the seat on the other side of the booth as Franky took her seat across. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this, Miss Davidson?”  
  
It was only then that she noticed the diminutive red-haired girl sliding in next to Erica. Franky frowned, looked at her lover — who was still completely freaked — and decided to give her some cover.  
  
She turned her attention to the girl as Erica gulped a glass of water. “Carolyn Jay, is it?” She smiled.  
  
“Yes. Hi Franky. We were in the same class at Uni. We actually had tort and constitution together this year.”  
  
Franky didn’t remember the girl at all. “Oh, yeah. Now I remember you. How you going? Taking care of my Erica, are you?”  
  
“Ms. Pearson is awesome to work for. But you know, we don’t have the most exciting cases. What’s it like at deMedici? That must be fantastic! What’s Michael deMedici like?”  
  
Franky was annoyed. This kid was taking up valuable air time. She wanted to be alone with Erica. If this kid thought she was settling in for drinks, she had another think coming. “DeMedici is brutal and Michael is a stone cold bitch. Now piss off. The grownups need to talk.”  
  
“Franky!” Erica scolded. She had finally regained her composure and threw an ice cube across at Franky, which she dodged expertly, and smirked.  
  
“She’s going to ruin our date!” Franky whined.  
  
“It’s not a date,” Erica answered automatically, then laughed. Franky laughed too.  
  
Franky softened her tone and turned back to Carolyn, trying to be friendly. She smiled at her, turning on her charm. “Well, Car. I’d like this to be a date. I have a fantastic crush on Miss Davidson and I’m trying to convince her to leave her marriage.”  
  
“Franky,” Erica warned, glaring. What was Franky thinking?  
  
Car giggled nervously and stood up. “No, yeah. I understand. Totally,” Car stammered.  “I’ll get out of your way. I see some mates over there anyhow.” She was going to get so much street cred for being seen talking to Franky Doyle, she didn’t mind being booted from the table.  
  
“Car, you don’t need to go. Really. This isn’t a date,” Erica insisted, still glaring at Franky.  
  
“No problem, Ms. Pearson. For sure. And for what it’s worth, I would leave Mark for Franky. She’s way hotter.”  
  
Erica blushed.  
  
“Ahhhh. Good on ya for having my back there, young Carolyn. First round’s on me — I’ll send it over to your table. What’ll you have?”  
  
It was Car’s turn to blush. “Cool, Franky! Pina colada. Thanks so much!” Way cooler still to be having a drink sent to her table from Franky Doyle. Her mates were going to freak. the. fuck. out.  
  
Franky turned her full attention back to Erica. “God it’s good to see you.”  
  
“Franky,” Erica started, exasperated. “You can’t do that in public!”  
  
“Aye, don’t you ‘Franky’ me. It is good to see you. I wasn’t going to kiss you in the middle of this pub, you know. The fact that you thought I would says more about you than it does about me.”  
  
Erica stared at her. Without the rigid hierarchy imposed by prison life, Franky wasn’t taking any shit. And Erica realized she didn’t have much credibility with Franky. She was the one that needed to build the trust. Franky had done nothing but be completely forthright from the very beginning.  
  
“I know you’re used to lying to yourself, Erica. And to everyone around you. But I’m not. Pretending that I don’t care for you will just make it more obvious to everyone that I’m nuts about you because I’m terrible at lying.” She unbuttoned her suit jacket and took a drink of water. “An idiot, however, I am not. I’m not trying to stuff us up on our first date. And this is a date.” Franky was angry. But she didn’t want to be. God, Erica punched her buttons.  
  
She looked down at her hands, which were shaking. “Shit, Erica.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Franky. I…”  
  
“What have I ever done to make you think you couldn’t trust me? All I have ever done is care for you. Care about you. Why can’t you see that?” She looked away, lowering her voice. “You knew I was in love with you and you got married anyway. Do you think I _want_ this?” Franky felt the tears welling up and quickly dabbed at her eyes and took some deep breaths. She would definitely make a spectacle of them both if she started crying now.  
  
So they were having that conversation.  
  
Erica’s heart hurt. Everything Franky said was true. She had been careless and so used to lying to everyone. She had thought she was in charge, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t a clue how to handle the real emotion between them, the reality of what it would mean to love Franky. Out here. But she knew she had to try.  
  
“Franky…”  
  
Anger she could do. “Fuck off, Erica.” She turned toward the server who was finally approaching the table. “Who’s a girl have to suck off to get a drink in here!” She yelled. Several people around chuckled.  
  
The server arrived. She was a curvy blonde in her early 20’s. Her name tag said Saffy. “Aye, there, gorgeous. That would be me. What’ll you have?”  
  
“First of all, your phone number.” Franky winked at her saucily. “Then, vodka martini, dirty. Belvedere. Double scotch rocks for the lady. Macallen?” She looked at Erica. Erica nodded. The server moved off.  
  
Franky again looked down to examine her fingernails. She was still angry, but had regained some composure.  
  
“You’re right,” Erica said softly. It had hurt, hearing Franky flirt and ask the server for her number. But being the cause of Franky’s current wounded state hurt more.  
  
“Everything you’ve said is true.” She knew she deserved the anger. “I’ve really stuffed us up and I’m sorry. I’m the idiot.” She took a deep breath, and decided to practice not lying anymore. At least with Franky. She hoped it wasn’t too late, that she hadn’t irretrievably damaged the possibility for them to be happy. That Franky wasn’t now just playing with her, a little revenge. Or that Franky was past forgiveness.  
  
She played Franky’s words in hear head again. _What have I ever done to make you think you couldn’t trust me?“_ The truth? Nothing. Not one damn thing. Erica took a deep breath. “I love you. I shouldn’t have married Mark.”  
  
Franky’s head snapped up and their eyes met. Franky looked wary, like she wasn’t sure what just happened. Like a wounded animal, ready to bolt. “Wait, what?”  
  
Erica became very still. She hesitated to repeat her words. Was this what Franky really needed to hear from her right now? They’d been together barely two weeks. Would Franky believe anything she said at this point?  
  
It reminded Erica of a moment in college, in her last year she had been on the netball team. Her team made the state finals and actually won the championship game. The coach never put her in. But after the game, he came to her and said, “I shoulda put you in. If I could do it again, I woulda played you the entire second half.” Erica had wanted to punch him. Who wants to hear that after the championship game _you didn’t get to play in!_ And there wasn’t any going back, no second chance. That was her last year.  
  
She didn’t want Franky to feel like punching her. She needed to show Franky that things could be different, not offer words and platitudes after all that had, and hadn’t, happened between them on Erica’s account. She wanted a second chance to do it right.  
  
The server arrived at that moment, completely oblivious to the intense dialogue between the women at her table. She served Erica’s scotch; then placed Franky’s martini down carefully in front of her, not spilling a drop. She dropped a second cocktail napkin down next to Franky’s glass. On it was scrawled Saffy’s name and phone number. She leered at Franky, nodded at Erica, and sauntered off.  
  
It was all Erica could do not to snatch the little napkin up and tear it into tiny shreds. She focused back on Franky’s face. Franky was watching her.  
  
“I don’t have any experience with this, Franky.” It was Erica’s turn to look down at her hands. She took a big gulp of the scotch. “No one is going to understand this… this _me_. I just need a a bit of time to sort things. To talk to Mark. To my family.”  
  
She looked up at Franky again. Some of the anger was gone. Not all, but some.  
  
“I need you in my life, Franky.”  
  
The edge of Franky’s mouth crept up into a half smile. “You mean you need me in your bed. Fucking you.”  
  
Erica blushed a high crimson, but didn’t look away. “There’s that.” She grinned, but then became serious again. “Of course. But it’s more than that. A lot more. You have to know that by now,  Franky,” she pleaded. “I care for you very much.”  
  
“Hah! You more than care, aye, Erica.” Franky took a swig from her martini. Then another. The bravado was back. “You’re in love with me. Admit it, Miss Davidson.” She smiled that irrepressible smile that was just for Erica. She leaned forward and watched Erica’s eyes flicker down to her cleavage.  
  
Erica leaned forward and met Franky’s eyes. “I am very much in love with you, Franky Doyle.”  
  
Few people in the near vicinity failed to feel the intensity emanating from the couple.  
  
Franky leaned back, trying to be smarmy, but it was difficult to affect in that moment. She hadn’t expected Erica to be so honest. And it tugged at her heart. “Let’s finish our drinks and go back to my flat,” she said, almost coy. Feeling a little shy. Erica had just declared her love. Unfiltered Erica.  
  
Erica immediately drained her glass. Franky laughed out loud and did the same.  
  
Then Erica smacked her palm against her forehead. “I can’t. I told Mark I would be home right away after a couple of drinks.” _Jesus_. She couldn’t think straight at all around Franky.  
  
Franky stood and dropped some cash on the table to cover the check. “Well, I need a ride home and technically we haven’t actually finished our first drink yet. Just come on, will you?”  
  
Erica found herself rising, obediently. _Fuck. Why can I not say no to this girl?_ She thrust her hand into Franky’s pocket, pulling out the napkin with Saffy’s number and tossing it back on the table. Franky arched an eyebrow and Erica glared back for a moment, defiantly. Then she discreetly took Franky’s hand, interlacing their fingers, and walked out of the pub into the street.  
  
Car’s friends high-fived her as they watched Franky and Erica leave.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Michael sat in her car across the street from the lofts where her associate and lover lived. She watched as the white Mercedes, identical to her black one, pulled into the garage and the gate clanged behind it.  
  
Earlier in the evening at the office, she and Franky had been in the conference room reviewing witness statements when Franky’s mobile rang. Not unusual and at first Michael thought nothing of it. Until she noticed Franky moving to the other end of the room and lowering her voice. That was unusual. _So she has a lover._ Michael was immediately sure Franky was sleeping with someone else and it was confirmed in her mind when Franky returned to their work. Her entire demeanor had shifted. Softened.  
  
Franky sat working for a few minutes. Then, “deMedici.”  
  
“Doyle.” Michael didn’t look up at her, but was very curious as to how Franky was going to frame this. Would she lie? And if so, why?  
  
“I’d like to take a break around half past 6, meet a friend downstairs for a drink. What do you reckon?” Franky didn’t look up from the papers, either.  
  
Michael did look up then, tried to read Franky’s expression. It was carefully focused on the paper and neutral. Hell of a game face. “Look at me, Doyle.”  
  
Franky stopped what she was doing and looked up at Michael. Violet eyes bored into green. Michael was surprised to see a wall there. Not that they were friends by any stretch of the imagination. But she had become used to an open playfulness between them that she had never had with anyone else before. They talked about everything. Well, Franky talked to her about a lot of things. And Michael had started to open up as well. It wasn’t even about the sex, which was good. But she found that she didn’t like this thing that caused the wall. This “friend.”  
  
“Fine,” she said, more sharply than she intended. She looked back down at the paper and after several minutes, realized she couldn’t focus. What the fuck was going on? She didn’t understand this… feeling. She slowed herself down and examined her emotions. Was she really upset that Franky had a date? _Christ_! She stood up abruptly and turned to leave the room.  
  
When she got to the door of the conference room, Franky was there facing her. Michael stopped and closed her eyes, fists clenched at her sides.  
  
“DeMedici. Talk to me,” Franky said softly.  She was actually frightened. Michael was not known for showing emotion of any kind. And it wouldn’t bode well for Franky if she was starting to show emotion now. When Franky needed to see Erica. She wasn’t clear yet whether she and deMedici were friends or enemies. Either way, she wanted to keep Michael close. But she was more protective of her relationship with Erica.  
  
Michael took two steps back and opened her eyes, deliberately unclenching her fists. “I’m just going to get some agua, Doyle. Nothing to talk about.”  
  
Franky didn’t move. “Sit down. I’ll get it.”  
  
Michael stared at her for a moment, then went back to her seat. She started reading again. A few minutes later, Franky came back into the room and placed a bottle of water in front of her, and a glass. She opened the bottle and half filled the glass from it, but didn’t move from Michael’s side.  
  
After a few minutes Michael was still acutely aware of Franky standing next to her, very still. Michael wanted to pull her down into her lap and kiss her. Brand her neck before this stupid date. Franky leaned down close, pointing to a spot on the paper Michael hadn’t been reading. The other hand curled around the back of Michael’s neck, massaging the nape gently.  
  
“See, this guy is an absolute nit. I think you can rip him a new one here. He can’t possibly have seen this, from this vantage point, at this time and then punched a clock over here an hour later. From the opposite side, yes. But then he wouldn’t have witnessed the crime. Capice?”  
  
Michael couldn’t stop herself from wrapping an arm around Franky’s hip. It was comforting. She didn’t know she wanted to be comforted. But somehow, Franky did.  
  
“Well played. That’s why you get extra perks, Doyle.”  
  
There was a tense pause. Franky went out on a limb.  
  
“Her name is Erica Davidson. She was my tutor at Wentworth for a couple of years. Helped me get my HSC and into law. I ran into her a couple of weeks ago and figured I owe her a drink or something.”  
  
Michael considered this. It made sense, but Franky was definitely leaving something out. Why?  
  
“I don’t really give a rats ass who you have drinks with, Doyle. You’re not my girlfriend.” She frowned.  
  
Franky spun the chair around and straddled Michael’s lap, lacing her fingers behind Michael’s neck. “I know,” she whispered, and leaned in to kiss her. She wasn’t letting anything, even Michael deMedici, keep her away from some much-needed time with Erica. If she had fuck her boss on the conference room table right now, Franky was going to do it.  
  
Michael planted a hand squarely in the middle of Franky’s chest and pushed her back, trying to look annoyed but finding herself laughing. “I’m serious, Doyle. Get off me.”  
  
Franky swiftly vacated Michael’s lap, moving back across the table to her own chair. She was relieved. And confused. What just happened? Again with the nice thing. Was Michael really just letting her leave work early? And not being possessive? There hadn’t really been a lot of opportunity to gauge whether all the time they spent together was actual work, or Michael being possessive. There was a hell of a lot of work.  
  
Michael continued to review the statements, but half her mind was focused on this interaction with Franky. And this Davidson woman. The name sounded familiar. She had to be a social worker, possibly also an attorney, if she ran programs at Wentworth. Then it clicked.  
  
She looked up at Franky. “Erica Davidson Pearson? Smokin’ hot blonde PD, Erica Davidson?” she asked. Then she knew what Franky had left out. Because Doyle _blushed_.  
  
“Yeah,” she said, feigning nonchalance, even though hearing Michael talk about Erica made her hot. “She was Miss Davidson at Wentworth.”  
  
Michael chuckled. “Miss Davidson at Wentworth, aye, Doyle?” Franky didn’t look up from the papers. “Well, if you’re fucking her you need to let me know, so you don’t end up as opposing counsel. That’ll get you both disbarred. Though she’ll know that.”  
  
Franky closed one file and opened another, focusing intently on the new statement in front of her. “I’m working here, deMedici,” she said, mildly irritated. She thought she had a better game face, but Michael had read her like a book.  
  
After Franky left for Swift’s, Michael poured herself a stiff drink and sat in the darkened office, thinking about her relationship with her newest associate. She certainly liked her. The sex was fantastic. But there was something else there, something that rankled when Franky had mentioned her “friend” Erica. Was she falling for Franky? Michael honestly couldn’t say. She’d never been in love with anyone before. So what was this? What could she identify in this thing with Franky? What did she know to be true?  
  
Several hours later, sitting across from her loft where Franky lived, she now watched that same Mercedes exit the lot, an hour after entering it. She had since had her PI run the plates, and knew the car belonged to Ms. Erica Pearson.  
  
She had thought she would go up to see Franky once Erica left, confront her about the affair. But she had changed her mind. _Score, Doyle. Erica Pearson is the most straight, vanilla, by the books, conservative girl in town. I can’t wait to see what happens to that suave demeanor in your hands._ Michael wasn’t anxious to make Franky’s relationship with Erica an awkward thing between them. She actually wanted to hear about it. Seriously. What in the world could Erica Pearson want with Franky Doyle? She should be scared, or appalled, or offended, or all three.  
  
But then, they had had that protected space at Wentworth, roles clearly defined. Franky would have been severely limited in what she could do and say to the staid Ms. Davidson inside prison walls. They might have become friends. Franky was charming in the extreme, and breathtakingly gorgeous; but that bravado hid a very sensitive, caring soul. Kind of sucked you in once she let you see it. But outside prison… What could either of them be getting from this?  
  
And why did Michael care? She shook her head to clear it.  
  
She liked Franky. She liked spending time with Franky. She missed Franky when they weren’t together for extended periods of time, but not in a desperate way. It was true that sometimes she felt lonely when Franky wasn’t around, within reach.  
  
Franky made her feel like she wasn’t alone. And maybe that was enough for now.


	6. What the Fates Have in Store

Erica stood outside the door of her 10th floor flat. It was technically her house — her Da had bought it for her, and now it sat inside her Trust. But it was also her home with Mark. They had lived here together for nearly eight years.

  
She turned and leaned her back against the door, trying to imagine how this conversation would go with Mark. _Hi, Honey. I’ve taken a lesbian lover and I want to end our marriage now._ Would Mark even take her seriously? He would probably think it was a phase, insist they could work it out. Honestly, until a few weeks ago when Franky Doyle had appeared in her parents garden, Erica herself couldn’t have imagined not being with Mark.  
  
But Franky. Erica replayed the past hour in bed with Franky in her mind.  
  
_They reached Franky’s flat a bit breathless and raced each other up the stairs to the bedroom. They quickly, but neatly, removed Erica’s suit and put it on a hanger in the wardrobe. Erica laid on the bed, waiting for Franky’s command. Franky was at the bureau, rummaging through a drawer. Erica eagerly waited being tied up._  
  
_“Erica, come over here,” Franky said from across the room._  
  
_Erica was practically panting in anticipation. “You can tie me up. I like it Franky, really. Please tie me up. Just hurry!”_  
  
_Franky chuckled and turned to look at Erica lying on the bed. She then opened her legs, giving Franky a completely unobstructed view of her sex. Franky practically swooned, no longer finding anything funny. She was drawn in and went to her lover, starting at Erica’s toes and kissing slowly up the inside of each leg until her mouth and tongue were immersed in Erica’s pussy._  
  
_Erica tangled the fingers of both hands in Franky’s hair. She couldn’t believe how quickly she was aroused by this woman’s touch. She was already bucking against Franky’s mouth, ready to come, but not wanting it to end too quickly._  
  
_“Wait… wait,” she huffed. “Franky, I don’t want to come yet. Please, Fr… aaaaaaaah FUCK!” she shuddered into Franky’s mouth._  
  
_Franky quickly kissed up her body and made the kissing of Erica’s lips a long, leisurely exploration. When it ended, they were both breathless._  
  
_“Damn. I didn’t want to finish so fast,” Erica said._  
  
_Franky sat up, pulling Erica with her off the bed. “Don’t you worry, Love. Sometimes you just gotta take the edge off.” She opened a drawer and directed Erica’s attention to the contents. “We still have 45 minutes.”_  
  
_Inside was a treasure trove of sex toys unlike anything Erica had ever seen. There were things in that drawer she never imagined existed, let alone understood what function they performed. Franky selected a rather large black dildo and harness, then closed the drawer and led Erica back over to the bed. There she explained how it strapped on, and helped Erica strap it onto Franky’s athletic frame. Erica remained speechless the entire time._  
  
_They had started with Erica on top, which was strange for her. Mark only liked missionary. And while she had already had many different experiences with Franky, this addition of the toy was… new. But she had taken to it like a pro. Then Franky had taken her from behind, and on top and from the side._  
  
But now Erica stood in front of her home with Mark, knowing she looked like she had just had incredible sex, or something like it; and trying to figure out what to say to him. She thought about the conversation with Franky at Smith’s. She had openly declared her love for Franky, and had meant it. There wasn’t any going back. She not only had to be honest with herself and to Franky; it was time tell Mark the truth.  
  
She steeled herself. If it wasn’t a good time to bring it up, she wouldn’t. But if he asked her anything, she would not lie; or even hedge. She would tell Mark that she was in love with, having sex with, Franky Doyle. And didn’t intend to stop.  
  
She opened the door and stowed her gear in the front closet, then moved into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She expected Mark to be in the lounge watching the telly, but the entire house seemed strangely silent. She noticed a half-eaten plate of food on the table, and called out.  
  
“Mark?”  
  
No answer. Could it be that he wasn’t even here? She went from room to room, calling his name. He wasn’t there. She went back to the kitchen and leaned against the bench, sipping her pinot grigio. That was when she noticed the note taped to the front door.  
  
_Dad is very ill. Caught the last flight to Auckland. Call you when I get in. xoxo Mark._  
  
She immediately called and left a message on his mobile. Mark’s family was a second generation, well known Mercedes auto dealer based in Auckland, New Zealand. Mark had come to Melbourne for university, then to expand the family business on the Australian continent, starting in Melbourne. There were now four Pearson Mercedes dealerships in Melbourne and two in Sydney. But most of his family was in Auckland and Christchurch. They often went to New Zealand on holiday, to be with his family.  
  
They would expect her to come. But not tonight. Not for a couple of days, at least, unless…  
  
She tried to feel guilty but couldn’t. Yes, she was concerned about her father-in-law; and about Mark. He was almost as close to his family as she was to hers. He had sacrificed that closeness to be in Melbourne for the family business, then he’d stayed because of Erica. She felt badly, worried about the Pearsons.  
  
But did that mean she shouldn’t call Franky?  
  
She located her mobile in her handbag by the front door, both her regular and the burner. Both had texts from Frankie. _Hope you got home okay_ , on her regular phone. _Please, please, please come back_ , on the burner. _There are so many more things I want to do to you tonight_. She rang.  
  
“Hey Gorgeous!”  
  
“Franky,” she was nervous. Scared that this moment was too good to be true. That Mark would come crashing back through the door any minute, something had happened to his flight, he couldn’t get out until the morning. And she would be up all night with him on the phone to Auckland with his family. Instead of home, in Franky’s arms. She knew she was being selfish but couldn’t find it in her to give up the chance. Last time, over two weeks had passed between visits with Franky. That was unbearable.  
  
“Umm, miss me, Miss Davidson?”  
  
“Madly. Can you come over?”  
  
“Don’t tease, Erica…”  
  
Erica cut her off. “I’m a horrible person right now, Franky, but I want you here. I want to wake up with you in the morning. Mark had to leave town suddenly, and will be gone for at least the next several days.” She waited a couple of seconds to see if Franky had any smartass retorts. She was silent. “Just come here. Please.”  
  
There were several seconds of silence on the other end. Then Franky spoke, very quietly. “You’re making me nervous, Miss Davidson. This is like, too good to be true.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I mean, seriously. Mark just suddenly had to leave town for a few  days.”  
  
“I know. I don’t know. Just get here, please.”  
  
Several more seconds of silence.  
  
“Ok. When I hang up this phone, I’m turning it off. You don’t get to change your mind. If your husband comes back before I get there, you’re going to have to explain it to him.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“See you in like, seven minutes, Erica.” She rang off.  
  
Erica smiled. It would take Franky at least 30 - 40 minutes to get to her flat. She took the opportunity to freshen up the sheets in the guest bedroom — even she wasn’t so crass as to have Franky in the master bedroom where she and Mark slept. She cleaned the dinner dishes Mark left, poured another glass of wine and went out to the lanai to wait for Franky.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Franky wasted no time getting a couple of things into an overnight bag, grabbing a suit for work tomorrow, and getting to her car. She burned rubber out of her car park and down the block until she got to the stop sign at the end. Then she stopped. She was about to burn rubber around the corner, on her way, when something made her slow herself down. Something she had seen coming out of the garage.  
  
She mentally replayed the sequence of events in her mind. Car park — empty of people, some cars. Nothing unusual. No one lurking around the gate. Street, packed with parked cars up and down both sides. But one of them was a black Mercedes with tinted windows. An SLK-class convertible roadster.  
  
Franky put her manual Audi in reverse and slowly backed down the street until she was even with the Mercedes. She rolled down her window. Michael rolled down her window.  
  
“DeMedici.”  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
“Were you coming up?” Franky’s heart was pounding in her chest.  
  
“I changed my mind.”  
  
“I was just going to get some gelato. Hazelnut. Go on up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Franky stopped breathing.  
  
Michael got out of her car and got into Franky’s. She took off her sunglasses and looked Franky squarely in the eye. She smelled of sex. And that look in her eye was not about ice cream. Michael chuckled.  
  
“You’re a terrible liar, Doyle.”  
  
Franky couldn’t stop the blush. But she let out the breath she’d been holding, and said, “Seriously, though. You want to come up, I’m good with that. We can talk, or whatever you want to do.” She lifted an eyebrow suggestively, but her heart wasn’t in it.  
  
Michael leaned across and kissed Franky, deeply, tasting the heady flavors on Franky’s lips and tongue. Some she recognized as Franky; others were not. She felt herself becoming aroused. But she felt oddly defensive about making Franky give up her plans to take Michael to bed. It made her feel pitied. She didn’t like it.  
  
Instead of taking Franky up on her offer, she pulled away from the kiss. “That’s the second time tonight you’re trying to take care of me, Doyle.” She put her sunglasses back on. “Stop it. You’re not my fucking girlfriend. I’m not telling you again.” She got out of the car and walked around, back to her own car. From inside, she called over, “You’re boxing me in. Get the fuck out of my way.”  
  
Franky winked at her, flashing her cockiest smile. “I know I’m not your girlfriend, deMedici. Cuz if I was your girlfriend I’d be driving a Porsche!” Franky burned rubber, again, leaving Michael behind. She didn’t look back.  
  
*********************************************************  
  
Erica awoke to a ringing in her ears. For a minute she didn’t know where she was because there were boobies pressed against her back but she knew she was in her own home. That damn ringing again! Then Franky pulled her in tighter, kissed her bare shoulder.  
  
“Don’t you think you should  get that? Probably Mark,” she said sleepily, against Erica’s hair.  
  
Erica scrambled for the phone on the night table and sat up in the pre-dawn, looking back at Franky. She smiled and then answered. It was definitely Mark. She picked up the first shirt she could find — it was Franky’s. She shrugged it on, inhaling deeply of Franky’s scent, and stumbled into the kitchen to put on some coffee.  
  
Mark’s father was not conscious. No one expected him to regain consciousness. He had been in good health, but definitely in his 80’s. So while surprising, this turn of events wasn’t entirely unexpected. And the man had a good life. Mark was the second oldest boy, so had a position of leadership and authority in the family. But he had plenty of support there with all of his younger siblings. Still, he wanted Erica to come there and be with him for the imminent death of the patriarch of the Pearson family.  
  
Erica’s heart twisted. She hadn’t even had a full night with Franky. And how was she going to have any kind of break-up conversation with Mark now that there was likely to be a death in the family? And what would she tell Franky? _Um, my love, hold that thought while I spend time with my husband and get him through the next six months?_ Fuck! And of course she would go to Auckland. But as soon as it was time for her to come back to Melbourne, she would tell Mark about Franky.  
  
She went back and slid into bed wrapping herself around Franky. She wanted to cry. She didn’t want to leave. She just wanted to be with Franky, go to sleep with Franky, wake up with Franky.  
  
“Franky.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Franky murmured sleepily, against head.  
  
“I have to go to Auckland tomorrow.” She felt Franky stiffen, then start to pull back, separating their bodies, preparing for the worst. Erica hung on for dear life. “Don’t. Please. I can’t fight with you right now, Franky.”  
  
“Are you going to leave me?”  
  
“No. Of course not. But I have to go be with my husband whose father is dying. After that I will tell him about you and I will leave.”  
  
Franky switched on the light and looked down at her. “Are you lying to me, Erica? Because, you know, you have a habit of saying whatever is going to make a difficult situation easier for you in the moment.”  
  
Erica turned onto her back and closed her eyes. There was that defensiveness. It cut. And Franky was right.  
  
But that was before. She had promised herself no more lying. She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. “That used to be true. But when I got you back,” she opened her eyes and looked into Franky’s, “I promised I wouldn’t say anything to you that wasn’t true. Never again, Franky.” She sighed, fighting back tears. “I don’t want to lose you.”  
  
“So back at Smith’s. When you said you loved me and that you should have never married Mark,” Franky asked. “Was that true?”  
  
Erica closed her eyes as tears began to fall. “Yes.”  
  
Suddenly she was swept up in Franky’s arms.  
  
“Jesus. Erica. I hoped. You know I love you too, right? I mean, what idiot waits three years to have sex with someone?” Franky chuckled. “But since it’s not just about sex, it might make me not an idiot. Right?” She was babbling. She knew it but she couldn’t stop it. She was ecstatic.  
  
Erica laughed, trying to stop crying. “I will come back to you. I swear it.”  
  
“You better,” Franky said, seriously. “If I have to come to Auckland and get you, I will.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
Franky’s mobile rang. She looked at the caller i.d. “DeMedici.”  
  
“Doyle. Remember that witness statement you found the error in last night?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well he’s just been found dead in his home. Gunshot wound to the head. Looks like an assassination. I need you to meet me at the office ASAP.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“You have any bright ideas?”  
  
“Well, he was our guy. The prosecution would have loved him.”  
  
“I know. I mean about how whoever killed him found out about the hole in his statement.”  
  
“Do we even know that that’s why he was killed yet?”  
  
“Good point.”  
  
“Meanwhile, you might have the offices swept for bugs.”  
  
“We do, every month.”  
  
“Regular schedule?”  
  
“Shit.” Michael rang off.  
  
Franky turned to Erica. “Well, I actually wasn’t looking forward to taking you to the airport, but now it looks like I won’t even get to spend time with you at all.”  
  
Erica arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. It’s 4:30 in the morning!”  
  
Franky moved away from the bed and started collecting her clothing. “One of our main witnesses was just found dead in his bed.”  
  
Erica sat up, frowning. “Are you in any danger?”  
  
Franky didn’t make eye contact, but kept dressing. “I don’t think so. I’m an attorney. I just push paper around.”  
  
Erica stood up and got in Franky’s face, holding her chin so that they had to look at one another.  
  
“Please, please, please do not do anything to put yourself in harms way. Or to  get yourself locked back up.”  
  
Franky pulled away from Erica’s hand. “I know how to take care of myself, Erica.”  
  
“But this isn’t just about you anymore, is it?”  
  
Franky was quiet for several seconds, her back to Erica. She did know how to take care of herself. She needed this job in order to take care of Erica properly. But Erica was right. There was something more to think about than just her own skin.  
  
She turned around and pulled Erica into a tight embrace. “Yeah. It isn’t. I’m sorry. I’m not used to thinking about… us.” She kissed her. “I will be careful.”  
  
She looped her belt through and buckled it and headed for the door. Erica pulled on a robe and followed.  
  
“Call me when you know your flight arrangements. Maybe I can get away and take you.” She kissed her again. “I do love you Erica.”  
  
“I love you too, Franky.”  
  
********************************  
  
Mark’s father had passed shortly after Erica arrived and the funeral was held three days later. As they lay in bed that night, Mark told Erica he was thinking it was time to move back to Auckland, back with his family. He thought things had gone off the rails between them lately, and he wanted her to think about making a fresh start across the pond. She told him she was in love with Franky. He actually laughed at her and told her it wouldn’t last, that she would come back to him. And he said he would wait. Ten years together beat a lesbian ex-con any day, he said. Four days later she was back in Melbourne.  
  
Meanwhile, Franky had been spot on about the office being bugged. And she talked Michael through thinking about who might have done it, what motive. They figured it had to be one of the other three associates, one of the two providing back up on the case. No one else had access to the office, except cleaning people. The junior partners and other associates didn’t even have access to the floor unless there was an executive meeting. Franky then suggested they check bank accounts to see if anyone had an influx of cash, or made any major purchases. And bingo!  
  
Now she was lying in bed with Michael. They had had very rough sex, Michael being particularly frustrated about the betrayal from inside her own firm. Inside her own team. Franky had just talked her out of telling her father or brothers about the extent of the betrayal. They probably would have had another dead body on their hands due to this case. Franky tried to tread lightly around these subjects — she didn’t want to know enough to get into trouble herself. And Michael seemed to be good with letting her stay out of the dirty stuff. They talked about it all jokingly, as if it wasn’t real. Plausible denial.  
  
“Yeah,” Franky continued. “You could just let that guy stew. He’s going to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”  
  
“You’re probably right,” she said, stroking Franky’s naked back. Franky was lying half on top of her. “But I think I’ll show up in his world in about a month. Stare pointedly. Make him think I’m keeping an eye on him.”  
  
“Evil genius,” Franky said, smiling against her shoulder. Then she went up on one elbow so she could look into violet irises. “DeMedici.”  
  
“Doyle. Uh oh. Going rogue?” She peered back. “Why suddenly so serious?”  
  
“Um, Erica Davidson.”  
  
“You mean Mrs. Pearson.”  
  
“You were right. About me and her. She’s been out of town for about a week but she comes back tomorrow.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“I want to spend some time with her.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Well, I know you keep telling me that I’m not your girlfriend. But I wanted to know if you have a problem with me being with other people?”  
  
“Would you care if I did?”  
  
“Of course, deMedici. What kind of a arsehole do you think I am?”  
  
Michael turned onto her side, gently dislodging Franky, and went up on one elbow too. “Wait. I’m genuinely curious here. How in the world did you bag Erica Pearson. And why do you care if I care you root Erica Pearson?”  
  
Franky sighed. “Jesus, deMedici. I know you like to pretend that you’re psychotic, or some sort of sociopath. But you aren’t. You just have a fucked up, dysfunctional family like most of us. And you’re isolated by the money.”  
  
Michael’s brow furrowed. She was really listening to Franky.  
  
“You don’t trust anyone. Except you have kind of started to trust me. And I actually like you. You’re one of only a couple of mates that I have that I really enjoy spending time with.”  
  
“We aren’t mates. You work for me.”  
  
“Yes we are. Sorry you don’t know what that feels like. But it feels like this. Even if I didn’t work for you, we would hang out.”  
  
“No, we wouldn’t. We wouldn’t even know each other, let alone 'hang out.' I don’t hang out. And mates don’t fuck each other.”  
  
“Sometimes they do. We do. Don’t change the subject.”  
  
Michael grinned at her. She was being deliberately obtuse.  
  
“You are my mate, then. Get over it. I just want to make sure no one’s feelings are getting hurt here.”  
  
“So tell me about Mrs. Pearson.”  
  
“Argh! Don’t call her that. She shouldn’t have married that wanker, anyway.  We, um, we sort of hit it off at Wentworth.”  
  
“Prison romance? Do tell!”  
  
“It wasn’t like that. I mean, when she started tutoring me, she really paid attention to me, got me to open up. And I flirted a lot. I mean, she’s fucking gorgeous. And then I realized it was actually getting to her — that I was getting to her.” Franky thought about the days before she had first kissed Erica. When she had known she couldn’t keep her hands to herself anymore. “Yeah. I mean, she was such a tease and she didn’t even do it on purpose all the time. And she kept calling me into her office for the stupidest reasons, then getting angry at me and putting me out.”  
  
“Wow — that sounds intense! I mean, you must have been driving her nuts. From her perspective, that would be awful. But that kind of tension is… invigorating.”  
  
“Yeah. You’re definitely a sadist. But as I was saying, she was driving me nuts making me look at her every day. Getting in my face. So one day I’d had enough and I basically assaulted her. I shoved her into a corner and kissed her.”  
  
“Shit, Doyle.”  
  
“Yeah. It was kind of brutal. But she was so, so, so asking for it.”  
  
“Did you end up in the slot?”  
  
“Actually, no. She kissed me back.”  
  
“What!?!?”  
  
“Yeah. She kissed me back, then she disappeared. I learned later that she had resigned.”  
  
“Fucking A!” Michael was putting the pieces together now. Whenever Franky and Erica had crossed paths about a month ago, the tension must have still been there, between them. But without the prison walls… “So she’s fallen for you. Hard.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Are you in love with her?”  
  
“Yes. I am, Michael.”  
  
Michael turned onto her back and looked at the ceiling. “But you’re here in bed with me. We’ve had sex almost every night this past week.”  
  
“It’s complicated.”  
  
“I don’t know if I’m ready to stop having sex with you, Doyle.” She turned back so she was facing Franky. “Do you want to stop having sex with me? Be exclusive with Erica? Isn’t she still married?”  
  
“Yeah. But she said she’s leaving her husband.”  
  
“Answer the other question, Doyle.”  
  
“It’s complicated, deMedici!”  
  
“Don’t fucking deflect. Just tell me the truth. You’re the only one I can fucking count on to be real with me!”  
  
Franky sighed. “I love having sex with you deMedici. You’re gorgeous. It’s good between us. It makes the long hours we spend together a lot more fun and interesting.”  
  
Michael sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She could feel the big, “BUT…” coming. It was going to hurt. Maybe she was in love with Franky. What other reason could make her not want to face whatever Franky was going to say next? Because Franky was in love with Erica, not her. Franky was going to be spending her time with Erica now, and not with her.  
  
“Damn, deMedici.” Franky scooted across the bed and wrapped her arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Don’t do this. You are not in love with me. And you aren’t going to lose me. I told you. You’re one of my only mates.” She pushed Michael back down on the bed so she could look in her eyes. She was shocked to see the coldness there.  
  
She backed up a bit, so they weren’t touching. She was a little frightened, but mostly angry. Jesus. How did she keep ending up with these selfish, self-involved women? “You don’t love me, Michael. We don’t go out in public. You haven’t taken me home to meet your family. You haven’t told anyone about us. I am a side gig to you. Don’t make it more than it is because you might be losing your momentary favorite fuck toy. You’ll find another. I’m sure there is a line half way across the continent of people who want to fuck you.”  
  
Michael got up from the bed, went to the wardrobe and came out dressed. She started down the stairs.  
  
Franky realized she may have gone too far. This woman was lethal, owned the house she lived in and signed her paycheck. And it was true that Franky genuinely liked Michael and considered her a mate. A nate with the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old.  
  
“Fuck. DeMedici!” She called out, pulling on the shirt Michael had discarded earlier and running down the stairs after her. “I’m sorry. Michael, please.” She caught up to her just as she was reaching the front door. She got in front of her,  blocking her exit. “That was mean and I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry, deMedici.”  
  
The ice was there now. Franky had never experienced that directed at her. It was painful. And she knew it was because she had caused Michael pain, because Michael actually cared about her. _Shit_.  
  
Michael lifted up her arm and backhanded Franky across the face, splitting her lip. She hit her so hard that Franky sprawled onto her arse practically into the kitchen. Then Michael deMedici left.  
  
The next morning when she got to the office, Michael wasn’t there. There was a slightly bulky envelope on Franky’s desk. When she opened it, there was a note and a set of car keys in it. The note was from Michael — it was on her personal stationery. It read, simply, _I’m sorry._ The keys were to a brand new Porsche.


	7. Those Lips I Adore

It was several days later. Franky and Erica were on Erica’s lounge, toe to toe, naked. They had just had a marathon sex session and were basking in the afterglow.  
  
“You want a glass of wine?” Erica asked.  
  
“Sure.” Franky replied. She watched Erica’s naked, perfect ass move away and into the kitchen.  
  
She sighed to herself. She hadn’t yet told Erica what had transpired between herself and Michael. Erica had returned from Auckland the next day, and Michael still hadn’t returned to the office three days later. So Franky hadn’t been working late and had a lot of time to spend with Erica. She hadn’t asked any questions — they had both been so grateful for the time together that talking about it seemed like it might jinx it.  
  
“So,” Erica called from the kitchen. “What’s going on at work that you’ve been here in time for dinner three nights in a row. And no 4:30am phone calls from the boss.”  
  
Erica reappeared and handed Franky a glass. Then she sat in her lap, her back against Franky’s chest.  
  
Franky smiled against the back of Erica’s head. It seemed like they were reading each other’s thoughts. She liked it. But there was serious business at hand. She took a big gulp of wine. “I think I’m in trouble.”  
  
“What’s happened.” Erica tensed.  
  
“You aren’t going to like it.”  
  
Erica half turned so she could see Franky’s face. What she saw there frightened her. “Jesus, Franky. Will you tell me what is going on?”  
  
“DeMedici and I got into it last week.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“I don’t know. About you. About us.”  
  
“You _told_ her?!”  
  
“I didn’t have to. When we went for drinks that night, she started acting a bit off. I told her I was meeting you, and she went straight for the ‘Are you fucking her?’ angle. I didn’t deny it.”  
  
“Franky!”  
  
“What? I can’t pretend I don’t care for you, Erica. It wouldn’t even sound right coming out of my mouth. Besides. Michael and I are friends with benefits. I was sure it wasn’t more than that.”  
  
Erica caressed Franky’s face. “You really have no idea what effect you have on people, do you?” She kissed her.  
  
“I don’t know. It just… It isn’t that way between us. I’m a toy for her. That’s it. But we are mates. I like her. She doesn’t have a lot of mates and I think I confuse her sometimes, because she enjoys our time together as much as I do.” She kissed Erica’s palm.  
  
“Your time in bed together? I’m sure she does enjoy it. What’s confusing about that?” Erica took a sip of her wine. She was jealous. She and Franky had barely had time to become friends. Franky was with Michael most of the time. “Are you besties?” She said, sarcastically.  
  
Franky tapped her nose. “Don’t do this. I love you. She’s just a mate.”  
  
“Then you should stop sleeping with her. Money can isolate people, and her level of money is off the charts. If she’s grown to like you, she trusts you, you’re having sex, and she has no other mates, no wonder she’s confused.” Erica took several deep breaths. "You know, I think I'm over you having casual sex with your boss. I want it to stop. I don't want you to touch anyone else."  
  
Franky eyed her with one highly arched brow. "Says Ms. Pearson?"

"He hasn't touched me since we started."

Franky stared. Erica had promised the lies would stop. When Erica's gaze did not waver, Franky replied, simply, "Ok." She took a sip of wine as Erica relaxed again against her chest. "DeMedici's a grown arse woman. She should be able to handle this.”  
  
“But?”  
  
“I may have been wrong.”  
  
“So tell me what happened.”  
  
“We were at the loft…”  
  
“Having sex?” Erica asked, acidly.  
  
“Stop it! Let me finish.” Franky sighed. This was a mess.  “We were talking, and you were coming back from Auckland the next day. I thought it was time to come clean about you with her, let her know I was going to be spending time with you and not available at her beck and call like I had been.” Franky took another gulp of the wine. “I didn’t want to have to start lying about us. I want to be with you. Especially now that you’ve told Mark. I don’t want anything in the way of us being together. There are still so many things that have to be worked out and I didn’t want that to be another one.”  
  
Erica sighed and nodded. That actually made a lot of sense, she had to concede.  
  
“So I told her I would be spending more time with you. And she kind of flipped out.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“She smacked me and walked out. Then the next day, on my desk, there was a note from her apologizing.”  
  
“A note? Have you spoken to her?”  
  
“No. She hasn’t been back in.”  
  
“Have you tried to call her?”  
  
“Yes. She won’t answer my calls. But there’s more.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“She bought me a Porsche.”  
  
Erica’s eyes went wide. “Jesus fucking christ, Franky.” She finished off her entire glass of wine and stood up. Franky tried to catch her hand but Erica was on her way back to her bedroom. Franky finished her wine quickly, too, and followed.  
  
When Franky reached the bedroom, Erica was half dressed, buttoning a white linen shirt across her chest. Franky watched for a few moments. She could tell Erica was fuming.  
  
“Please say something.”  
  
Erica scoffed. “What can I say? My girlfriend’s girlfriend just bought her a Porsche. What’s there to say?”  
  
“Say that again.”  
  
“She bought you a fucking Porsche! How can you think she’s not completely whipped on you, Franky? Who buys their fuck buddy a Porsche!”  
  
“I meant the part about being my girlfriend.”  
  
“You’re _my_ girlfriend, Franky Doyle.  You aren’t keeping it.”  
  
“Of course not.” Franky looked at her toes. “It is sweet as, though.”  
  
Erica threw a shirt at her. “Put something on. I can’t think when you’re naked.” It was one of Erica’s button downs. It barely covered Franky’s butt. Erica stalked from the room.  
  
Franky went to the spare room where she’d been keeping her clothes and pulled on a pair of boxers. When she caught up to Erica, she was in the kitchen pouring them both another glass of pinot grigiot. Erica sat down on a bar stool. Franky moved to sit next to her.  
  
“Uh uh!” Erica shook her head and put her hand against Franky’s chest. “Go over there on the other side of the bench. I need to think.” Franky obediently crossed to the other side of the island. Erica studied Franky’s face. “So what are we going to do? I was going to ask if she would hurt you, but I guess she gave you the fat lip. Do you think you’re in danger?”  
  
Franky shook her head. “No. I honestly think that was a fluke, like she kind of snapped. That’s why she bought me the car.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Franky! People who piss off the deMedici’s disappear! And she’s like a wounded animal!” Erica shook her head. “She bought the car because she’s in love with you! She’s trying to demonstrate that she’s a better partner for you than me! That she controls you. When she comes back she will expect you to toe the line.” Erica was close to crying.  
  
Franky came around the island and pulled Erica into her arms. “Look. My gut isn’t telling me any of those things. I really believe that she considers me a mate. I know I do her.”  
  
Erica was crying now, holding on to Franky. “You were wrong about her being in love with you. You have no clue how devastatingly charming you are. People fall in love with you all the time.”  
  
“I don’t think so. Listen. You are right about her being isolated. She doesn’t even know what it means to have a mate that isn’t trying to get something from her. She’s confused. And she has the emotional maturity of a ten year old. She’s just out of her depth with this.” She kissed Erica. “I just need to talk to her.”  
  
“And if she does have the emotional maturity of a ten year old, then you aren’t even dealing with an adult. She’s like a baby tiger. Cute, but she could still eat you for dinner.”  She kissed Franky back. “I swear to god.” She kissed her again. “If anything happens to you I’ll kill her myself.”  
  
“Don’t even think it, Babe,” Franky said. There was more kissing. “You wouldn’t last a day in Wentworth. Then I’d have to do something to go back in to protect you.” She chuckled into Erica’s hair. “That would be a fine mess.”  
  
Erica pinched her arse. “This isn’t funny, Franky.”  
  
“Ouch! Hey! I think someone’s angling for a spanking.”  
  
“Don’t make light of this Franky. Please.”  
  
“Okay. But you need to trust me. I can manage this.”  
  
“I trust you. It’s the deMedici’s I don’t trust.”  
  
*****************************************  
  
It wasn’t until the following week that Michael came back into the office. She was already at her desk when Franky arrived at 8:00am. Franky stopped in front of Michael’s office door and peered through the glass. Michael didn’t look up. Franky went to her desk and pulled out the latest case file.  
  
About half an hour later, Michael emerged from her office and approached Franky’s desk. She tossed an accordion file down in front of her. Franky looked up. The Ice Queen was gone.  
  
“New case, Doyle. Pro bono. This woman is claiming domestic violence — she’s pretty beat up. The husband and kids are saying she’s the maniac and the husband is only defending himself. I want you to talk to her.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
She turned and walked back into her office. Franky stared after her. Then opened the file.  
  
Around one o’clock, Michael buzzed the associate across from Franky, a young man named David. He liked to be called Dave, but Michael called him David, so everyone did. He listened for about thirty seconds, then slammed down the phone. When he stood up, he glared at Franky.  
  
“Don’t understand why the lap dog doesn’t go fetch her lunch. What, are you fucking her now?” Dave stalked off toward the elevator.  
  
Franky sighed. Now that was going to be a thing for the other associates to pick at her about. She wondered when it would be appropriate to start openly dating Erica, so people would stop thinking she was sleeping with everything that moved. Although to be fair, she used to do that and not care. And she was fucking Michael. But all that was going to change. Hopefully.  
  
Around seven o’clock, the other associates started packing up. Michael was still in her office. Franky called Erica to let her know she was going to wait Michael out. Erica thought it was a bad idea to stay there alone with her. Franky disagreed.  
  
When the other associates had cleared out, Michael came to her office door and stood looking at Franky. Franky turned in her chair to stare back.  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
“DeMedici.”  
  
“Do you have dinner plans?”  
  
“Ah, not exactly.”  
  
“Will you have dinner with me?”  
  
“Yes. Where?”  
  
“At my flat. In half an hour.” Michael picked up her briefcase and headed toward the elevator.  
  
Franky scrambled to gather her things and follow. “Wait! DeMedici — I don’t know where you live.”  
  
“What, are you a dumbass? How could you not know where I live? Upstairs. Penthouse. Call around eight, when you’re ready, and I’ll send the elevator down.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Thirty minutes later, Franky was standing in Michael’s foyer trying not to gawk. Michael led her into a lounge area that was easily as big as the entire loft. It had two-story floor to ceiling windows across one side that opened out into a roof-top garden with a stunning view of Melbourne.  A woman who was a carbon copy of Michael, only older, and with washed-out blue eyes was standing there holding a glass of wine.  
  
Michael introduced her. “Mother, this is Francesca Doyle. Franky, this is my mother, Elena.”  
  
Franky nodded. Elena deMedici slowly raked her eyes from Franky’s feet to her head, judging her.  
  
Michael excused herself. “I’m going to the kitchen to get the wine. We’ll have dinner on the terrace.”  
  
Franky gave Elena her own head to toe appraisal, refusing to be intimidated. “Nice place,” she said.  
  
Elena turned her back on Franky and sat down on the lounge. She looked up at Franky with open contempt. “My daughter says that you are her friend. Please sit down.”  
  
Franky sat. “She is my friend.”  
  
“My daughter does not have friends.”  
  
“She does now. She’s a nice kid.”  
  
Elena scoffed. “Michael is a lot of things. Nice is not one of them.”  
  
“She’s nice to me.”  
  
“Are you sleeping with her?”  
  
Franky’s eyes widened. She laughed. “I don’t think that’s any of your business. I think that would be between Michael and I.”  
  
Elena raised her voice so it could be heard in the kitchen. “Michael Lee. Are you sleeping with this… person?”  
  
There was silence from the kitchen. Then Michael reappeared. There was venom in her voice. “Yes, Elena. I am sleeping with Franky. I asked you to be nice. Why do you always have to be such a bitch?”  
  
Michael pulled Franky up from the lounge with her free hand, interlacing their fingers and moving them swiftly away from Elena toward the terrace.  
  
“I’ll stop being a bitch when you stop bringing home trash, Michael Lee.”  
  
Michael didn’t miss a stride. She continued out onto the terrace where a dining table, exquisitely appointed, was set for dinner. She pulled out Franky’s chair and invited her to sit, then poured her a glass of wine.  
  
After Michael was seated across from her and had had a sip of from her own glass, she looked up at Franky. She was clearly angry. “I’m sorry, Doyle. I’m sorry you had to witness that. I was hoping she wouldn’t be home tonight.”  
  
“Oi!” Franky exclaimed. “What a fucking piece of work! I’m surprised you didn’t turn out a homicidal maniac.”  
  
“How do you know I’m not?” Michael was still seething.  
  
“I guess I don’t,” Franky conceded. “But I know several homicidal maniacs, and I don’t get that from you. At all.”  
  
Michael’s anger dissolved immediately and she laughed. “I guess you would know.”  
  
“Yeah. I would.”  
  
“Do you like the car?”  
  
“Michael…”  
  
“No strings. I promise.”  
  
A uniformed maid appeared from seemingly nowhere with two rocket salads, placing one in front of each diner. Michael attacked hers.  
  
“DeMedici. I can’t keep it. My girlfriend is tossed about it.”  
  
Michael finished her salad. “So you’re still with Ms. Pearson.”  
  
“Yes. I told you. I love her.” Franky started on her salad. She hadn’t noticed Michael eating so fast before.  
  
Michael gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry I hit you. That was inexcusable.”  
  
“It was,” Franky said with her mouth full. “What the hell got into you?”  
  
“I don’t know. I was angry.” She looked down at her plate, pushed the garnish around with her fork. “I hadn’t been angry with you before then. It was… I didn’t like it.”  
  
“Why were you angry, deMedici?” Franky watched her carefully. _Am I actually talking to the ten year old?_  
  
Michael thought about this. Her family had money and power. She should be able to make Franky do anything she wanted. Including give up that Erica person. She could make Erica disappear.  
  
She certainly didn’t want to hurt Franky. Making Erica disappear would probably hurt Franky. She might be in love with her. At the very least, she was very attached to the idea that Franky could be her mate. Maybe already was her mate. Franky was always honest with her, hadn’t tried to manipulate her in the slightest, and seemed to honestly enjoy their time together, whether working or not. So why did she even need Erica? Michael was confused. She slouched in her chair. “I don’t know. I mean, you had just told me you didn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”  
  
_Fuckall. It is the ten year old._ “That isn’t what I said at all, deMedici.” _A ridiculously wealthy, spoiled ten year old who has never been told no before in her life._  
  
“Yes you did, Franky!”  
  
_Wow. Okaaaaay._ “No, Michael. What I said was, I want to spend more time with Erica. I was spending practically all my time with you. We do good work. And we have fun doing it. But I need to balance things out a bit.”  
  
“I don’t want anything to change!”  
  
Franky barely finished her salad when it was whisked away, replaced by a plate holding filet mignon, risotto, steamed broccoli. She watched Michael tear into this course. “Some things have to change, deMedici. Look at me.” Michael looked up at her, eyes slightly wild, and stopped mid chew. Like a baby tiger. It was kind of cute. “Not everything. We’ll still spend a lot of time together. We work long hours together.”  
  
Michael swallowed. “What about sex?”  
  
Franky shook her head.  
  
“I don’t accept it.” Michael devoured the rest of her meal. Franky chuckled. “Don’t you fucking laugh at me, Doyle.”  
  
“What the hell are you doing to that food? I’ve never seen you eat like that before.”  
  
Michael looked up at her again and slowed her chomping. After she swallowed, she said, “Sorry. It’s a bad habit eating at home. Trying to get away from Elena at the table. Eat fast. Get excused early. She picked on me a lot about how much I ate. But swimming all the time, I burned it off.” She slowed down, but was already pretty much finished with the entire course.  
  
“So you’re still swimming?”  
  
Michael shook her head toward the other end of the terrace. Franky looked over. There was a lap pool at the other end of the space.  
  
“Every morning and before bed. That’s pretty much the only reason I still live here. If I didn’t have the lap pool, I would lose my mind.”  
  
“I’m not kidding about the sex thing, deMedici.”  
  
“I’ve told you, I don’t accept it!”  
  
“You don’t get to decide!”  
  
“Yes, I do!”  
  
“Jesus! What are you, twelve?”  
  
Michael slouched down in her seat again, glaring at Franky.  
  
“You're fired.”  
  
“Then I guess you really won’t see me. Unless you can find time to hang out with me.”  
  
“And I want you out of the loft by the end of the week.”  
  
“Then I’ll have to move in with Erica.”  
  
“I don’t like either of those scenarios.”  
  
“Well then don’t do those things, Michael. I don’t want to stop working for you. I love working for you. I love the loft. I’ll start paying you for it. I really don’t want to have to move in with Erica yet.”  
  
Michael straightened up a bit. The glare softened. “You love working for me?”  
  
“Yes, deMedici. What are you, a dumbass. How could you not know that by now?”  
  
“The loft is already paid for. No need to double pay.” Michael smiled. “Fuck off, Doyle.” Her plate was whisked away and a bowl of ice cream replaced it. Franky had barely finished her broccoli.  
  
“Piss off, deMedici.” She smiled back.  
  
**************************************  
  
Erica accepted Franky’s invitation to sit in her lap for the next course. It was a Sunday morning, and they had just finished a delicious breakfast. The final dish was mango that Franky had expertly sliced and placed in a bowl on the dining room table. Erica straddled her lap. Their bare skin rubbed together along the top of Franky’s thighs and Erica’s bum. Even though they had started the morning with sex, Erica found herself slightly aroused again.  
  
Franky took a slice of mango from the bowl and offered it to Erica, who reached for it with her hands.  
  
“Ah ah,” Franky said in a low, sexy voice. “No hands for you.” Erica opened her mouth obediently and Franky laid the fruit on her tongue, while capturing both wrists behind Erica’s back with the other hand.  
  
Franky pulled another slice from the bowl and placed it between her teeth. Erica didn’t need any instruction for this one. She gently sliced the mango with her teeth, kissing Franky in the process. This went on for several minutes — one bit for Erica, one bit for Franky, and lots of kissing, until Erica was breathless.  
  
“Jesus, Franky!” She hissed. “What are you doing to me?” Erica could not fathom how fruit could make her this aroused.  
  
Franky continued to hold Erica’s hands, and pulled Erica back so that her breasts jutted jauntily in Franky’s face. She unbuttoned Erica’s shirt with her free hand and kissed down the sternum. Erica moaned. Franky sucked one erect nipple into her mouth and spent some time there. She could feel Erica starting to grow wet against her thigh.  
  
Franky had to be careful with Erica in these moments, when Erica was so aroused by the foreplay. The way Erica moved against her, responded to her touch, the sounds she made — it was hard not to get lost in it and just make love to her. But Erica needed something different. She needed Franky to be in charge, to dominate her, to control her. And Franky needed that too. They didn’t do it all the time, but it was definitely a key component to their chemistry.  
  
Maybe the dizzying effect Erica had on her would settle over time. Once they got more used to each other. When things weren’t still so new and completely fucking unbelievably hot between them. God, she hoped not.  
  
Franky switched to the other nipple and bit down, lightly. Erica whimpered and began to grind against Franky’s thigh with intent. _Damn. Should have brought the nipple clamps in here. Don’t think we’re going to make it back to the bedroom._  
  
Franky reluctantly pulled her lips away from Erica’s delicious skin and opened her eyes. Erica was staring at her, eyes a fuzzy blue, mouth open. Franky smiled.  
  
“Tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
Erica’s expression went from fuzzy arousal to slightly confused. “What?”  
  
“Tell me what you want me to do,” Franky repeated, holding Erica’s wrists tighter, so it pinched.  
  
“Ow! You know what I want you to do. I don’t understand!” Erica was frustrated now, struggling against Franky’s grip.  
  
“I want to hear you say it.”  
  
Erica eased her struggling and studied Franky’s expression. “You want me to say it.”  
  
“Yes, Erica. I want to tell me exactly what you want me to do. I want to hear you say it.”  
  
Erica closed her eyes. Franky wanted her to talk dirty. It was one thing to curse during sex. It was another thing to describe the goings on in detail. Out loud. She had never, ever said those things out loud before. Barely even thought them.  
  
She took some deep breaths. She didn’t want to do this. This would be humiliating, saying those dirty things. She thought about her safe words. _Francesca Nicole._  
  
She opened her eyes. Franky was watching her carefully.  
  
“What’s going on, Erica?”  
  
“I don’t think I can do this, Franky.” She pulled against Franky’s grip, again trying to free her wrists.  
  
“Why?” Franky didn’t let her go.  
  
“I don’t want to say those things, Franky,” she said, her voice low. She looked away from Franky’s face, anywhere but those emerald eyes. She knew she was going to disappoint her and she didn’t want to see it.  
  
“You need to get past this, Erica. This idea that what we’re doing is dirty.”  
  
“I don’t think that! I…”  
  
“Then say it!” Franky growled. She leaned forward and bit Erica’s nipple, hard. Then sucked it to soothe the pain.  
  
“Aaaah FUCK, Franky.” _Francesca Nicole. Francesca Nicole._  
  
Franky started a line of bruising kisses up Erica’s neck until she reached her lips, then kissed her deeply. Erica shuddered and moaned into the kiss. Then Franky pulled back.  
  
Erica opened her eyes. She was desperate, now, for a more intimate type of attention from her lover.  
  
“Say it!” Franky whispered. She leaned forward again but this time sucked in Erica’s earlobe. “Say it,” she whispered, breathing softly into Erica’s ear.  
  
_Francesca Nicole. Nicole. Nicole._ It was on the tip of Erica’s tongue, which was now pressed against Franky’s ear. She was going crazy. And she liked it, this torment that Franky caused in her. She loved it.  
  
“Fuck me,” she whispered into Franky’s ear.  
  
Before she could suck that delectable earlobe into her mouth, a she’d intended to do, Franky had stood up and pushed her down onto the bench, shoving two fingers deep insider her and stroking Erica’s clit with her tongue.  
  
Once she’d spoken them, Erica actually felt empowered by those words, the command which instantly put Franky where she wanted her, needed her to be in that moment. So she said it again.  
  
“Fuck me, Franky!” This time out loud.  
  
Franky smiled against Erica’s clit as she felt the fingers tangle in her hair, coaxing her to go harder, faster. She hooked Erica’s thighs over her shoulders and slid a third finger in, relishing the resulting groan from her lover. Franky opened her eyes and saw Erica watching her. This was new. She pulled one finger out of Erica’s pussy, still keeping up a steady rhythm, and with the next thrust, slipped that finger into Erica’s anus.  
  
Erica’s mouth formed a perfect “o”. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to pump against Franky’s mouth and fingers with wild abandon. She had no idea her body could do these things.  
  
She was getting close. She arched her back against the counter, opening her eyes. This time she yelled it. “Oh God! Yes! Fuck me Franky!”  
  
At that moment, Erica watched the front door open and Mark step across the threshold, freezing as his eyes locked with his wife’s.  
  
“You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!” Mark yelled.  
  
Before Erica could even begin to make sense of this situation, Franky had moved into a defensive posture in front of her, as if to protect her from Mark. Erica found this a bit ridiculous. If anyone needed protecting in this situation, it was Mark. Franky could easily tear him to bits.  
  
Mark advanced on Franky aggressively. “You! You don’t belong here! You need to leave my wife alone!” He yelled.  
  
Erica stepped in front of Franky as she buttoned up her nightshirt that Franky had so efficiently unbuttoned several minutes before. Erica sighed, hoping the fruit thing wasn’t going to be ruined because of this. _Fucking MARK!_ She looked at Mark, expecting to feel guilt, shame, or at least sad or apologetic. What she actually felt was anger.  
  
“Why are you here, Mark?” She said, quietly. She could feel Franky breathing hard against her back as she continued to hold her away from Mark.  
  
Mark laughed harshly. “Why am I here? I live here, Erica. What is she doing here?”  
  
“You should have called. I’ll have the locks changed as soon as you leave.”  
  
Mark looked taken aback. He stepped backward, staring now at Erica instead of glaring at Franky.  
  
“You can’t be serious,” his face crumpled.  
  
“I told you I was with Franky. What’s not to understand about that?” She said coldly.  
  
Mark dropped to his knees and began to cry. “Oh god, Erica. Please. Please don’t leave me. I love you so much.”  
  
Erica’s anger crumbled with Mark’s tears. She inhaled deeply, trying to contain her own emotions. She was definitely through with him, but not immune to his pain. The pain she was causing him. Nor the mourning of their ten years together.  
  
She felt Franky’s arms circle her waist possessively from behind, but she broke the embrace and went to Mark. As she approached him, he wrapped his arms about her waist and sobbed. She stroked his hair.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mark. I truly am.”  
  
“Don’t do this!” he continued, his mouth against her hip.  
  
Erica felt her own tears begin to fall.


	8. Implacable Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* Bridget Westfall insisted on showing up in this story. She rather gets the short end of the stick, so apologies in advance to Fridget fans. I'll try to make it up to her.

Erica was exhausted. Mark had been inconsolable, and still had a hard time believing they couldn’t work things out. By the time she had convinced him to pack some of the things he needed and go, she’d found Franky in the spare bedroom packing her things. It had taken her a solid hour to convince Franky that she wasn’t taking Mark back.  
  
Then Mark had gone straight to her parents house and described the entire sordid affair to them, including the fact that he had walked in on Erica having sex with ‘that lesbian ex-con’ in the kitchen. Next, her Father had called and asked her to come for dinner to talk things out, which she agreed to only after Mark was gone from their house. In the several days that it took for Mark to make his return to Auckland, Erica went round to all of her brothers and sister and told them about her split with Mark. And about Franky.  
  
Neither her mother, nor Nic, were speaking to her. Her younger brothers, Vince and Ashton, thought it was hot. They didn’t much like Mark anyway. Her older brothers, however, were shocked and dismayed at having a lesbian for a sister. They were sure it would ruin her career and asked her to consider carefully her choice of partner. When she finally got to dinner with her parents, her father was the only person who really seemed to understand — he got that Mark had never been the best fit for her, that Mark wanted to be in Auckland; and that she was in love. Her mother was disappointed; but insisted that Franky be brought to the next family dinner. They all needed to respect Erica’s choice and get to know Erica’s new… lesbian ex-con.  
  
Now it was down to re-establishing communication with Nic. She had agreed to come over to have dinner at Erica’s flat for a sister-to-sister talk. They had finished the fajitas that Franky had prepped for Erica the night before. They were now seated on the lanai, watching the sunset. It hadn’t been too difficult of a conversation. Erica apologized for not telling her sooner; Nic accepted, admitted to still being slightly jealous, but understanding that Franky Doyle was way out of her league.  
  
“I just don’t get it though,” Nic was saying. “I mean I get that you’re gorgeous, and most guys fall all over you. But I’ve never even see you flirt with a girl.”  
  
“I know. It’s just Franky,” Erica replied, eyes half closed as she watched the waves crash on beach ten stories below. The sound was soothing.  
  
“And no offense,” Nic added carefully. “But what is Franky getting out of this?”  
  
Erica chuckled and rolled her eyes. “I’d like to pretend to be offended but I don’t have the energy. It’s been a hell of a week. You’re going to have to be more specific if there’s actually a question in there, Veronica.”  
  
“I’m just saying. I mean, you and Mark were, like, the most boring couple on the planet.  
  
“Thanks!”  
  
“It was just real, Erica. He was a nice guy and everything. But I never even saw you break a sweat around him.” Nic turned to face her sister and lowered her voice. “I bet sex with Franky is fantastic.”  
  
A slow smile crept across Erica’s face. “Unbelievably fantastic.”  
  
“But don’t you think she’s, like, going to get tired of you? And you chucked your marriage for her?”  
  
“Jesus, Nic!” Erica sighed. “It isn’t just about sex. Franky and I love each other. We like being together. We get along. She makes me a better person.” There. She’d finally said it.  
  
“Well, you’re certainly more interesting.”  
  
Erica heard the door opening across the flat, and she bounced up to greet Franky at the door.  
  
There was that blinding smile. Erica forgot everything else and let herself get pulled into Franky’s arms, pushed up against the door and thoroughly kissed. Franky pinned Erica’s arms above her head and began to kiss down her neck, while shoving a thigh between her legs.  
  
“God I missed you today,” Franky said between kisses.  
  
Erica knew there was something she needed to tell Franky, but she couldn’t quite recapture it due to Franky’s ministrations.  
  
Franky worked her way back up and kissed her again. “I have to go to Sydney tonight, with deMedici,” she said into Erica’s mouth, as she released her hands and grabbed her arse. “But I have time for a quick…”  
  
“Excuse me,” Nic said from behind them.  
  
Franky spun, shielding Erica from whomever had spoken, having no idea who it might be, if she had made a spectacle in front of one of Erica’s business partners or even a friend. Their relationship still wasn’t known outside the family.  
  
Erica liked that Franky kept trying to protect her. She wrapped her arms around Franky’s waist from behind, and kissed her ear. “I meant to tell you that Nic is here.”  
  
Franky smiled sheepishly as she realized it was only Erica’s little sister, her old study partner. “Hey Nic,” she said, crossing the room and giving her friend a peck on the cheek. No hard feelings, aye?”  
  
“Um, yeah. But I’ll get over it,” Nic replied good-naturedly. “How you going, Franky?”  
  
“Busy,” Franky said, pouring herself a glass of wine and heading toward the bedroom. “Gotta pack. Sorry I can’t stay and chat.”  
  
Erica followed her. “So what’s up in Sydney? And how long will you be gone?”  
  
Franky pulled an overnight bag out of the wardrobe, as well as several items of clothing. Erica watched her pull boxers and a tank top out for sleeping.  
  
“Just overnight. We need to interview a witness on a new domestic violence case we’re doing pro bono.”  
  
Erica didn’t say anything. She did pull out a pair of long jammy pants and a long sleeved sleep shirt to replace the boxers and tank in the packing order.  
  
Franky grinned at her and pulled her in for a quick, but loud, smack on the lips. “Ah, Babe. No worries. I’m a one woman woman now.” She shoved the clothing into the bag and then went to the bathroom to gather toiletries.  
  
Erica continued to follow her lover. “Why are you rushing? I thought you said we had time to… You know.” She was still blushing at the thought of the things she and Franky did together in bed. Or on the lounge. Or in the kitchen. Or in the shower. Maybe on the lanai, when she was feeling more adventurous.  
  
“The driver is downstairs. I was gonna make him wait, but since you’re having some sisterly time, I’ll leave you to it,” Franky said, smiling at Erica’s reflection in the mirror.  
  
“You don’t have to be in such a hurry,” Erica pouted.  
  
Franky moved back into the bedroom and packed her toiletries, zipping up the bag. She then pulled Erica into her arms and kissed her. The kiss was long, as she explored every nook of Erica’s mouth, lips, teeth and tongue. When she pulled back, both of them were breathless.  
  
“You going to let me fuck you here while your sister is in the next room?”  
  
Erica frowned. “Ok. I think you officially killed the mood for me for the first time time ever. I would have done you at Wentworth before having it off while my sister is in the next room listening.”  
  
Franky chuckled. “That’s something I always meant to ask you. What did you think about me at Wentworth, Miss Davidson? I know you had fantasies. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”  
  
Erica’s blush was back. She found some non-existent lint to pick from Franky’s collar. Franky kissed her gently, grabbed her bag, then took her lover’s hand to lead her back into the kitchen where Nic was waiting for them.  
  
“So I suppose it’s true,” Nic said. “I kind of couldn’t imagine the two of you together. But now that I see it…” Nic sighed. “I think I’m still jealous.”  
  
Franky drained her wineglass, then kissed Nic on the forehead. “Sorry, Nic. You never had a chance. I was done for the first time I kissed Erica. And that was years ago.” She turned back to Erica. “I need to go.” She kissed her again and was gone.  
  
Nic stared at Erica. “Shit.”  
  
“Yes,” Erica agreed, emphatically. They returned to the lanai.  
  
“She’s nuts about you.”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
“No, I’m telling you. She’s absolutely nuts about you. I mean, I’ve probably spent more time with her than you have at this point. I never, ever saw her kiss anyone like that. Or even look at anyone the way she looked at you just now.” Nic sipped from her glass. “And her energy is different. Not so agitated. More focused.”  
  
“Hmmm.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Nic said, slowly turning her head to look at her sister instead of the  beach. “She kissed you years ago? She’s only been out a year…”    
  
Erica remained silent.  
  
“Oh. My. God. Did you have an affair with her at Wentworth? Oh my god, Erica. That is so hot!”  
  
“No! Absolutely not! Do not even think that again, let alone say it to anyone else. Do you realize how inappropriate that would have been? She was in my care, Nic!”  
  
Nic contemplated that. “Right. Sorry.” She looked back out at the waves. “But you kissed her…”  
  
Erica sighed, deeply. “No one else is ever to know this. I could lose my social work license. I could be retroactively fired..”  
  
“I would never betray you, Erica. You know that.”  
  
“Franky and I had an… intense… relationship. I started out as her tutor, and we really hit it off. We became friends. She’s a maddening flirt, but as her tutor, I enjoyed the game. We teased each other. But when I became governor I couldn’t keep up that dynamic and she refused to let it go. And… she’s just an irresistible force.” Nic nodded in agreement. “She kept pushing me and I started to unravel. And then one afternoon she actually pushed me into a corner, in my own goddam office, and kissed me.”  
  
“Holy shit, Erica!”  
  
“And I let her. I actually kissed her back. And after she left, I knew I would keep giving in. I resigned the next day. I never went back.”  
  
“Sweet baby Jesus.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
**********************************  
  
Franky had a very good interview with the witness in Sydney. This was their client’s sister. From her perspective, the husband was pyschotically controlling the entire family, and terrorizing the children into lying. He even partially convinced them that their mother was completely inept, because he belittled and abused her so much. The best course of action was to get them all away from the husband. Have him jailed, if at all possible.  
  
She arrived at Melbourne International and went straight to the arrivals curb to wait for Erica to pick her up. She was about to call Michael to debrief. but thought better of it. Nothing pressing that couldn’t wait until the morning. Besides. She definitely didn’t want to be on the mobile with deMedici when Erica arrived.  
  
“Franky. Franky Doyle. Is that you?”  
  
Franky heard the voice, it was familiar. She looked around but couldn’t see anyone she knew. And then a car pulled up next to her, stopped, and the driver exited. She found herself looking across the top of the vehicle at Gidget. She grinned.  
  
She and Gidge had split up about six months after Franky got out of prison. It had been a fun six months, but they weren’t so compatible outside of the bedroom. Franky liked to play. Gidge thought her childish. Franky tended to wear her heart on her sleeve, even if she changed that sleeve often. Gidge wasn’t much into public displays of affection. Gidge listened to classical music. Franky hated classical music. Gidge kept insisting on cooking for her. She was a terrible cook, but Franky didn’t have the heart to tell her. And then Gidge had started to get serious, despite these challenges. Franky still held a candle for Erica, so she got out.  
  
But Franky maintained an honest affection for Bridget Westfall. The woman had saved her life, getting her to open up about Meg’s death; about her mother. And then had taken her in when she got out of prison and had no where else to go.  
  
“Hey, Gidget. How you going?” Franky called across the top of the car.  
  
Bridget returned the smile with one of her own, and came around the car. “God, you look fantastic,” she said, eyeing Franky from head to toe.  
  
And before Franky could respond, Bridget kissed her full on the mouth, forcing her tongue in between her former lover’s lips.  
  
Franky immediately knew this was bad news. Erica was to arrive any minute. She gently peeled Bridget off of her and held her at arms length. Only to see a set of steely blue eyes over Gidget’s shoulder. She stepped back, wide eyed.  
  
Gidget stared up at her. “What’s wrong? Franky?”  
  
Erica turned and headed back toward her car.  
  
Franky caught up to her, grabbed her arm to stop her. “It’s not what you think, Erica.”  
  
“Oh, isn’t it?” Erica seethed. “Why did I think this was going to be any different for you? That I wasn’t going to be like all your other girlfriends. Jesus!”  
  
Bridget caught up to them. “I think I can explain,” she said, focusing on Erica. “This is all my fault. I definitely caught Franky off guard.”  
  
Erica shook herself free from Franky’s grip. “No one catches Franky off guard,” Erica retorted, looking between the two of them.  
  
“Gidget, stop.”  
  
“No, I can explain this. It’s just a simple misunderstanding.”  
  
“Gidget don’t. Please. Just go.”  
  
“Franky and I are old friends from a couple of years back. I haven’t seen her in several months and I let myself get carried away.”  
  
“Really,” Erica replied caustically. “So I guess you knew her at Wentworth, since she’s only been out a year. Were you an inmate as well?”  
  
“Bridget, please, just go!” Franky barked at her. Bridget frowned. Franky never called her by her name.  
  
She turned back to Erica. “No, I wasn’t an inmate. I am a licensed psychologist. I treated Franky for a bit, but was let go.”  
  
Erica turned to Franky. She felt as if her blood were turning to ice. “Jesus CHRIST Francesca Nicole. Was there any woman on staff you didn’t seduce? Am I going to trip over Vera Bennet leaving your flat next time I drop by? How about Linda Miles? Come to think of it, shouldn’t Kim Chang be popping up out of the woodwork at any moment?” She got up in Franky’s face as if she wanted to slap her. “Arrrgh!” She yelled at her, then backed off. She got into her car, and sped away.  
  
“No! No! No!” The tears were beginning. Franky wrapped her arms around her head and leaned over. She was nauseous. She straightened and Gidget was still there, an unreadable expression on her face. Franky turned away from her, then back again to see the last of Erica’s Mercedes disappearing around a bend.  
  
“Who was that?” Bridget asked, calmly.  
  
“Erica!” Franky was fully crying now. “Erica Davidson.” She sobbed. “I love her!”  
  
Bridget closed her eyes and sighed as she put the pieces together. “Erica Davidson. Former Governor. Resigned suddenly. Now Ms. Pearson.” She sighed again. “She fell for you too. That’s why she left.”  
  
“Yes!” Franky continued crying, openly, unapologetically.  
  
“Oh god, Franky. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I asked you to shut it! Why couldn’t you just go!”  
  
Bridget checked herself, and couldn’t declare herself free of an ulterior motive. She wouldn’t mind another go with her ex-lover. Franky did look spectacular. She missed her. But it was unlikely there would be anything further between them. Especially after this. “I truly am sorry, Franky, but I think I would only add insult to injury if I tried to intervene further.”  
  
“Don’t! Just go away, Bridget. Please!”  
  
“Can I at least give you a ride somewhere?”  
  
“Jesus christ, Bridget! Leave me alone, will you?!”  
  
Bridget slowly, reluctantly, walked away.

 

******************************  
  
Twenty-four hours passed. Then forty-eight. Erica wasn’t returning any of Franky’s calls or texts. Franky was desperate to explain. What, she wasn’t exactly sure. Something about Erica being the only one that mattered now. That past was past. She though she understood what had triggered Erica. She had seen it coming, which is why she had tried to shut Gidget up.   
  
On the third day of radio silence, Franky stopped calling and wrote Erica a letter. And then waited.  
  
*******************************  
  
Erica thought she would feel a sense of relief and freedom when the calls and texts stopped. She didn’t. As the silence stretched on through the day, she started to feel sick.  
  
She had never felt that kind of rage before. She actually saw red, like red film covered her eyes and she could barely even see Franky, let alone that other woman. She had gone home and drank an entire bottle of wine. And relished the hangover the following day. But when evening came, and she was home alone without Franky, she felt a deep, abiding sadness. That’s when she started to cry. And cry. And cry. She cried most of the night and went to work the next day looking like hell. Which several people were careful to avoid telling her.  
  
Then, when the phone calls stopped, she started to panic, but couldn’t make herself dial Franky’s number.  
  
Why was she so fucking angry about this? So what if Franky seduced other people after Erica  left her. What did she think was going to happen? That Franky was going to turn into a nun? In fact, when she had married Mark, hadn’t she convinced herself that Franky was likely fucking herself through every woman in Melbourne? That Franky had moved on?  
  
It was something about that woman specifically, wasn’t it? Erica had seen the entire thing, how Bridget Westfall and sauntered up to Franky and tongue-kissed her on the mouth, in broad daylight, like she owned her. And Franky had let her. Her first instinct was to stab Bridget Westfall in the eye. So why was she so angry at Franky?  
  
She’d googled the Westfall woman. She had been a highly respected psychologist but it seemed that she had fallen into some disfavor after her dismissal from Wentworth and her subsequent affair with Franky Doyle. It didn’t look good, being fired for fraternizing then taking up with the woman you were fired over, someone who was under your psychological care. Erica checked the history of governors before and after her own brief tenure. Meg Jackson was killed. Joan Ferguson was a psychotic sadist who had almost got Franky killed. _Franky never mentioned that. I’ll have to take her to task for that._ And then it seems Vera Bennet had finally been promoted.  There was no evidence, at least on the internet, that Franky had seduced any other senior staff at the prison.  
  
She finally thought she understood. She was angry at Bridget for being so careless, for making such bad decisions and pulling Franky into them. She was also angry at Franky for falling for that woman. For having made Erica witness their affection. Why did she let that woman kiss her? Erica finally admitted to herself that she was a jealous,  possessive, harpy. Franky was going to have an endless stream of women, like Bridget Westfall, that wanted her back. She needed to talk it through. And apologize.  
  
She picked up her mobile and composed a text to Franky. _Can I come over?_ No, that was desperate. _Can you come over?_ No, that was desperate too. Wasn't she desperate, though? But wait. What if Franky said no? What if she was actually busy? What if she was in bed with Michael deMedici? Or someone else. Erica shook that one off, stopped that train of thought, even though it would serve her right. But she still couldn’t make the call. She couldn’t imagine how to begin.  
  
On day five she almost crossed the street and went up to the deMedici office to ask for Franky in person. Then she realized that, without plausible business, it would be questionable to say the least for a PD to show up there for a casual conversation with a first year associate. It would probably get her fired, or at least forced into mental leave. She finally decided she would go over to the loft and wait for Franky to get home. If she got home.   
  
She stopped at her flat to change out of her work clothes and into something comfortable. Rummaging through her wardrobe she found one of Franky’s shirts and put it on, inhaling the scent of her. It was comforting. And made her cry. She set her iphone up to download the latest episodes of her favorite podcasts to listen to while she waited for Franky, and looked through the snail mail on the bench.  
  
In the middle of the pile was a handwritten letter in a sloppy scrawl that had only become  familiar to her over the past few months. The return address was F. Doyle. She sat down, trembling. Was this a “dear jane” letter? Should she call Franky and ask her what was in it? She thought about the other letters that Franky had written her. The ones she never received. The ones that may have stopped her from marrying Mark. She poured herself a glass of scotch and tore it open.  
  
 _Erica —_  
  
 _I’m not even sure what happened but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. I wouldn’t hurt you intentionally for anything in the world._  
  
 _I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. I can’t even imagine my life anymore without you in it. I don’t think I’ve taken a single breath over the past few days. I can’t breathe without you, Erica. I don’t even understand why I’m still alive._  
  
 _Please give me a chance to explain. Please just talk to me. Please don’t break my heart. I won’t survive it. I never imagined the possibility of such joy as I’ve had with you. And such pain. But I’ll take it all if you’ll only talk to me. I need you in my life. You make me a better person. I am lost without you._  
  
 _Please give me a chance._  
  
 _Francesca Nicole_  
  
Erica was more clear in that moment than she had ever been about anything before in her life. She was a complete lunatic if she believed anything other than that Franky loved her. And that Franky was the best thing in her life.  
  
Within minutes she was on her way to Franky’s loft. When she arrived at the car park, she punched in Franky’s code. It rang three times, then Franky answered.  
  
“Who is it?”  
  
She sounded so tired. Erica’s heart ached even more. “Can I come up?”  
  
The gate clanged open and Erica pulled in, made a hard left and parked in a visitors’ space. She scanned the rest of the spaces for a black Mercedes identical to her white one. Then she held her breath as she looked for Franky’s red Audi. Next to it was a black Porsche 911. It was sweet. But still no Mercedes. She exhaled. As she arrived at the elevator, it opened. Franky was there in boy briefs and a tight tank top. No shoes. She looked like a half-drowned puppy.   
  
Erica’s heart broke in three places, at least. She wrapped her arms around Franky who, for the first time, felt fragile in her arms. And she said exactly what she was thinking. “Why do you put up with me?”  
  
Franky pulled back and looked at her, her eyes teary. She half laughed and half sobbed then kissed the girl.  
  
They forgot where the were until the elevator started moving up. It took several seconds for Franky to orient herself, and by the time she did, they had passed the fourth floor. She punched the button anyway turned Erica in her arms and wrapped her arms around her, using her as a body shield. Franky suddenly realized she was in her knickers. The elevator stopped on eight and two very svelte, handsome men stepped in. One looked  Franky up and down, and grinned.  
  
“Give us a rest, Carlton,” Franky mumbled into Erica’s hair.  
  
He snickered. “But it’s such a fetching look for you, Franks.” He eyed Erica. “Are you going to introduce me to your lovely friend?”  
  
Franky still didn’t look over. Erica did. “I’m Erica Davidson. Franky’s girlfriend.” It felt good to say out loud. Franky kissed her head.  
  
“Oh!” Carlton looked genuinely pleased. “I have to say, Franky’s descriptions have not done you justice.” He kissed her hand, then directed his next conversation at Franky. “ You have to bring her to my party this weekend. Roof rave. Oh —and see if you can convince the Medici slag to come — she’s a bucket of laughs!”   
  
The elevator, thankfully, stopped at the fourth floor and Franky backed out with Erica in front of her, so Carlton wouldn’t see any more of her butt.  
  
“Cheers!” he said as the doors closed, giving Erica a genuinely pleased smile.  
  
When they arrived at the loft, Franky disengaged from Erica, walked to the lounge and lay on her back with both arms crossed behind her head. She closed her eyes. Erica followed and climbed on top of her. They spent a long time, lying there together, just feeling each other breathe.


	9. I Insist

Franky heard her mobile ringing, but ignored it. She heard the text pinging, ignored that too. She knew she had finally slept for awhile. Erica lay completely on top of her, wrapped around her like a blanket. Franky didn’t mind that at all. She felt like someone had peeled her raw and left her out in the sun to burn. Erica’s weight against her was like a cool, aloe-ey balm for her soul. And she wasn’t going to move to answer the goddamn phone.  
  
It was dark out. They must have been lying there for a couple of hours. Franky just listened to Erica breathing, felt the soft whiffs of air against her neck. She thought about what to do next, what was broken and how to mend it.  
  
She needed to get Erica firmly in hand, make sure their respective roles were clear. This _leaving_ bullshit Erica seemed to like to pull had to stop. It destroyed Franky. She couldn’t take care of Erica if she was broken; and Erica definitely needed care. She really was her own worst enemy, flailing about madly, frightened of the things that she wanted while spinelessly embracing that which she didn’t. Her sub tendencies were truly an art. She needed to understand that and hone her craft. Franky would teach her.  
  
She heard her front door open, and quickly moved out from under Erica, quieting her with a soft kiss on the lips, whispering that she should stay still. The night lights in the kitchen were switched on as she approached Michael deMedici, who was now standing by the sink.  
  
They stood staring at one another for several minutes. Michael spoke first.  
  
“I have been calling and texting you for the last several hours and you didn’t answer. I was worried.”  
  
“It’s been a rough day, but I’m fine.”  
  
Michael squinted at her, then pulled Franky’s chin forward to examine her face more closely under the small lights. Her eyes were red, cheeks tear-stained. “Doyle? What’s happened to you?”  
  
Franky stepped back out of Michael’s grasp and extended an arm out behind her, catching Erica’s hand as the other woman approached.  
  
“Erica Davidson,” Franky said, trying not to sound too ironic. “Who rarely does anything I ask of her. It can be crazy-making. Erica, this is Michael deMedici.”  
  
Erica tried, unsuccessfully, not to stare daggers at the taller woman. Michael’s stance subtly shifted, edges sharpening as the Ice Queen emerged.  
  
“Oi, for fucks sake!” Franky exclaimed. “Cut it! Both of you! I don’t have energy for this right now.” She moved away from them toward the fridge. After opening three beers, she handed one to Erica, another to Michael, took a swig off the third and headed for the lounge.  
  
Erica followed her. Michael stayed put for a few minutes, then followed the couple to the lounge, sitting across from them. After several more minutes of silence, Franky finished her beer, sat back and put her arm around Erica, who leaned into the embrace.  
  
Michael stood, passing her beer to Franky. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to make sure you were right.” She walked toward the door.  
  
“Wait,” Franky said, jumping up from the couch after her. “DeMedici. Wait.”  
  
Michael paused with her hand on the doorknob.  
  
Franky embraced her from behind and Michael turned into her, returning the hug tightly. “See, this is what friends do for each other. Thank you. Thank you for checking on me. It means a lot.”  
  
Michael kissed her on top of the head, and left.  
  
Franky turned and leaned against the door. Erica had kneeled up on the lounge to watch the encounter. _What to do with a problem like Miss Davidson?_ Franky mused.  
  
“You might come over here and kiss me now,” Erica said, seeming to read Franky’s mind. Franky smiled. Not the usual wattage — she was tired. She still managed to drag her self across the room into Erica’s arms.  
  
Erica pulled Franky over the back of the lounge, down on top of her, and kissed her. Franky’s body was drawn tight all over with tension, hard and weary. She focused on soothing Franky of all of the anxiety and sorrow she had caused over the past several days. Letting Franky take the lead, following obediently. It seemed to work as slowly, Erica felt her lover finally sink fully on top of her, the tightness between her shoulders easing, until finally Franky’s head fell against her shoulder, ending the kiss.  
  
Franky then adjusted them both so that she was sitting with Erica’s back pressed against her front. “You need to talk to me,” she said quietly.  
  
“I don’t know what to say,” Erica replied, sighing heavily.  
  
Franky drew one hand up Erica’s chest, and gripped her neck. A little more tightly than was comfortable. Then she squeezed until Erica’s breathing became labored.  
  
“Franky…” Erica rasped, clawing at her fingers.  
  
“Let me inspire you to know what to say, then,” Franky said, not loosening her grip. “If you ever leave me again, walk away from me, we are done. Do you understand that?”  
  
Erica nodded. Franky squeezed a little tighter.  
  
“I am in charge here, Erica. Of you. Is that clear?” Franky spoke quietly, calmly, like they were discussing tea options. “You leave only when I tell you to go. You do what I tell you to do. When I tell you to do it.”  
  
Erica nodded again, and Franky let go of her lover’s throat.  
  
Erica had been tensed up, back arched while Franky nearly choked the breath from her. Now she relaxed against Franky, breathing rapidly.  
  
“Now tell me what the _fuck_ happened. Do not bullshit me,” Franky commanded.  
  
************************  
  
Two days later, Erica was lying with Franky on the lounge, watching a movie at Erica’s flat. After she had explained to Franky about seeing red, losing control after Bridget Westfall had kissed her, Franky had taken her up to the bedroom. There was a new feature to the room — a grappling hook which hung from the ceiling. And it was installed at exactly the right height over the bed, so that after Franky had undressed her and handcuffed her, placing the cuffs up over the hook, it left her arms and torso completely extended with just enough give for her to kneel almost comfortably on the bed.  
  
Then Franky had shown her a riding crop and a whip. And proceeded to apply them to Erica’s body liberally. And expertly. When Franky had finished, Erica was in such a state of arousal that she was trembling all over. When Franky uncuffed her and she laid on the bed obediently, waiting for the epic sex session that should follow, she was stunned to see Franky proceed down the stairs away from the bed, instructing her not to touch herself.  
  
Many things about her relationship with Franky had become clear to Erica over the past couple of days. Aside from the fact that she was foolish to continue to harbor the fear that Franky would dump her, she also had come to better know her own role as a submissive. And she was frustrated. They still hadn’t had sex.  
  
On that first night when Franky had left her panting, she’d finally dressed and followed her lover downstairs to the lounge where Franky was casually drinking a beer, watching _Bound_ on the large flatscreen mounted above the fireplace. She sat down and Franky explained that there would be no sex between them until she was ready. The next night, no sex again.  
  
This was going on the third night and Erica was getting jittery. Having Franky spoon her, breasts pressed against her back, her bum snugly tucked into Franky’s groin, was not helping in the slightest. She wanted Franky’s hands on her naked skin. Badly.  
  
“Franky,” she opened, quietly.  
  
“Hmmmm?”  
  
“When do we get back to normal?”  
  
“You mean fucking?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“When I’m ready to fuck you, Erica.”  
  
Erica was ready. She had a good feeling Franky was ready too. She didn’t understand how punishing them both solved anything, helped them move forward.  
  
Still, she asked the next question. “When is that?”  
  
“When you are ready to beg me for it.”  
  
Erica was immediately incensed and stood up turning to glare down at her lover. “I will not!” She stated firmly. “This is ridiculous. I know you want me. You know I’m past ready for you. Why do this?”  
  
“Because I’m in charge, Erica. How many times am I going to have to explain this?” Franky said calmly. “And I will fuck you when you beg me for it.”  
  
“I won’t beg you.”  
  
“Yes. You will.” Franky turned her attention back to the movie.  
  
Erica huffed across the room, through the kitchen and out to the lanai. It was chilly outside, but she figured that would cool her down like a cold shower. _I’m not going to fucking beg! Why would she want that from me?_ Slowly but surely, the light opened up a little more for her. _This is the goddamn sub thing.  Okay. So why not just go in there and give her what she needs, then I get what I need? We’re both happy. Why is this so maddening?_ She took a deep breath and re-entered the flat.  
  
She got down on her knees next to Franky on the lounge. “Okay. I’m begging. Please, Franky. I need you to make love to me.”  
  
Franky looked at her and chuckled. “Ah, no, Babe.” Erica frowned. “The trite, false capitulation is the opposite of what we need here.” She stroked Erica’s face gently. Erica turned into the hand, kissing Franky’s palm.  
  
She leaned in and kissed Franky, deeply. Franky kissed her back. “Seriously. I just need to feel you against me, Franky. Inside me. Please?”  
  
Franky closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, Erica. You’re not ready yet. You still don’t understand who we are together. What we mean to each other. How much I need you.”  
  
“I do! I…”  
  
“No, you don’t.” Franky stood up and stretched. “I’m going to go back to my flat,” she said. “We need to take some time apart. I think it’s confusing us both, being together all the time like this.”  
  
Erica gritted her teeth. “Fine. Just get out.”  
  
Franky left.  
  
*******************  
  
The next day, mid morning, Franky came to Erica’s office. She sat back in her chair and watched Franky swagger through her door with that knowing grin on her face. Franky plopped herself down in the chair opposite Erica’s desk. It felt a lot like their dynamic at Wentworth.  
  
“Franky.”  
  
“Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica was still angry. “What do you want?”  
  
“I want to kiss you. Right now. Right here. In front of the kids.”  
  
“No!” Erica was not about to add public displays of lesbian affection to her repertoire of failed marriage and failed prison work.  
  
“Well then how about dinner with me tonight?”  
  
Erica softened. “You mean like a date?”  
  
“Yes, Erica. I would like to date you.”  
  
Erica smiled. “Yes.”  
  
“You know people are going to see us. Out. Together.”  
  
Erica thought about that. And thought about the alternative. She had been hiding inside Wentworth. But she had found Franky there. Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without the girl out here. So who cared what other people thought? She did need to work on her inhibitions. Maybe Franky could help her with that. Realization slowly dawned.  
  
“Lucky them,” she replied.  
  
“Cheers,” Franky said. “I’ll meet you in front at 7:30.” She stood up and moved toward the door.  
  
“Wait,” Erica said, catching up to Franky at the door to her office, tugging gently on the back of her slacks. Franky turned to face her. Erica pushed her back against the glass and kissed her. Deeply. When she pulled back, she was happy to see Franky’s million-watt smile return for the first time since their ‘disagreement.’ _Disagreement! Hah!_ Erica thought. _More like me being an asshat. Why does she put up with me?_  
  
“God I love you, Miss Davidson,” Franky said, winked at her and left.  
  
All six of the first year associates in the office turned to Erica, and applauded.


	10. Somewhere, Somehow, Someone’s Gonna Be Kissed

They had a fairly conventional, uneventful date at a popular Italian restaurant. Nice dinner with wine. They shared tiramisu for dessert. Franky then saw Erica home, but stopped short of entering her flat.  
  
“Don’t tell me you aren’t coming in,” Erica stared at Franky wide-eyed.  
  
“Not a good idea. I know you think this is easier for me than for you, but it isn’t.”  
  
Erica frowned. Franky had barely touched her all evening. To be honest, it wasn’t entirely that Franky hadn’t tried to hold her hand or be physical with her in the simple, romantic ways that couples in love do. But Erica had resisted, not wanting to be caught out in a public space making that sort of display with a woman. Even Franky. She and Mark had not been demonstrative at all. He seemed to understand and have no issue with this being Erica’s preference.  
  
Even though she’d kissed Franky in her office that morning, that was still inside Erica’s own domain where she was in control. Out there on the street, in the restaurant, who knew who might see them? But now that they were out of the public eye, at home with plenty of time and space and privacy to be intimate, Franky was still holding her at arm’s length.  
  
It all came back to this dominance - submission thing. She still wasn’t entirely settled to being anyone’s “submissive.” Although she didn’t mind being underneath Franky at all. She desperately wanted to submit to Franky now. She had begged and pleaded, but Franky continued to say it wasn’t enough. Erica felt the discussion was semantic, that Franky was just being stubborn. Erica knew she would do anything Franky wanted her to do, and she had made that abundantly clear to her girlfriend. Yet there was no progress. Erica was beginning to feel bitter. And wounded.  
  
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the door frame, utterly despondent. “I don’t know what you _want_.”  
  
“You do. You want it too,” Franky said in a low voice. Her nerves were raw. It had been over a week since they’d had sex. Franky wanted her so badly, but she needed to let Erica conquer her own fear; to really understand their symmetry. Erica was nearly there.  
  
She went down on her knees and wrapped her arms around Franky’s waist, pressing her cheek against her belt. “Please, Franky. I need you. Please.” The tears came.  
  
Franky pulled her up and held Erica’s face between her hands. She saw that Franky was truly struggling as well.  
  
“So close,” Franky whispered, and then kissed her.  
  
Erica leaned into it, drinking of Franky. She was coming unravelled. She wanted Franky to take her there in the hallway. She didn’t care anymore. Then she heard the elevator ping and pushed Franky away, smoothing down her hair. She looked to see who was approaching —  it was her neighbor across the hall, a member of the local legislative council. _Thank god we cleaned that up_ , Erica thought as the woman approached them. Then she turned her attention back to Franky.  
  
Franky’s look was withering disappointment. Erica finally realized where her error was, where here logic had gone astray. She kept trying to control herself in public spaces with Franky, all the while trying to figure out how to become less inhibited, to also be free with Franky. And she didn’t know how to do it.  
  
But Franky did. If she could just follow Franky’s lead, trust her, it would balance out. This is what Franky meant by submission, how they fit together, what made them special together. Erica had a lot to learn. Franky was the only instructor she would ever want.  
  
“So close, but yet so very, very far,” Franky said acidly, and turned to walk away.  
  
The Councilwoman was peering at her iphone, not really paying attention to them. Erica caught up to Franky quickly, pushed her against the wall and kissed her hungrily. She heard the Councilwoman stop moving, but Erica stayed focused. She was going to fix this. She couldn’t bear any more distance between herself and her lover.  
  
Franky grabbed her arse. Erica didn’t budge. When Franky finally broke the kiss, Erica was surprised at how clear-headed she felt. Grounded. She stared into Franky’s eyes and caressed her face.  
  
“Much better, Miss Davidson,” Franky murmured, smiling. “We’re nearly there.” Finally. Unfiltered Erica.  
  
“Erica?” The interloper spoke.  
  
Erica did not leave the circle of Franky’s arms. Now that she had got back in it, thought she understand how to stay in it, she was loathe to let go.  
  
“Cheers. Jacinta. This is my partner, Franky Doyle.” Erica didn’t let go of Franky. “Franky, this is Councilwoman Jacinta Barnes.”  
  
Franky kept one hand firmly planted on Erica’s arse and shook Jacinta’s hand with the other. “I really appreciate your work, Councilwoman,” she said very seriously. Franky actually did pay attention to local politics. “You take some righteous stands that aren’t always popular with the other legislators, but it seems like you are always thinking about the regular blokes.”  
  
Jacinta glowed as she shook Franky’s hand. “Well, thank you. I’m glad my work has impact.” She winked at Erica and continued down the hall to her own flat.  
  
Erica’s attention had never wavered from Franky. “Will you come in?”  
  
Franky leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, appearing to struggle with the dilemma.  
  
“Come on,” Erica whispered into her ear, then licked it.  
  
_Fuck_! Franky was on fire. But it wasn’t time yet. Erica wasn’t quite there. Clearly she had just had an epiphany, but giving in now would set them back months. Erica had to break before she finally understood what it meant to let Franky truly dominate her. She could wait a couple more days, but not the months it would take to get back on track if she gave in now. She caught Erica’s hands and pushed a bit, creating some space between them. “Not tonight. Not yet. I truly am sorry. You have to trust me that I’m doing this for a reason, and that you will understand.”  
  
Erica could see the pain and longing written across Franky’s face. It was obvious that Franky was not enjoying this at all.  
  
And so far, Franky had been right about everything. From their first kiss to their lovemaking the night they were reunited, to the BDSM, to this exact moment. Every time she had given in to Franky, things had righted themselves in her life. Every. Single. Time. She was embarrassed that she hadn’t seen it before.  
  
The fiery longing didn’t subside, but Erica seemed to find a calmness with it that she didn’t have before. “I do trust you,” she said simply, kissing Franky a bit desperately. And stepped back.  
  
Franky closed her eyes and hung her head. Erica was going to drive her completely batshit. She wanted to lay down with her. Now. What was it going to take for Erica to finally get this?  
  
Erica started walking back to her flat. As she reached the entrance, she looked back over her shoulder. “It’s Wednesday. Why don’t we go dancing on Friday? Take me to one of those seedy, lesbian clubs you frequent.” This would be way out of her comfort zone, but she was convinced this was the right path to get Franky back into bed.  
  
Franky looked up, a mischievous light in her eye as a solution finally occurred to her. She chuckled. Leave it to Erica to devise her own undoing. “For some reason, I can’t imagine you in a sketchy dyke bar. But you did give me an idea. I’ll come round at 8pm day after tomorrow, aye?”  
  
“See you then, Franky.”  
  
It was going to be a long two days for both of them.  
  
**************************  
  
Early the next morning, Franky and Michael were going over the details of their pro bono domestic violence case. Jude Townsen had taken her children to women’s services and asked for refuge, and was now living in a shelter. She had decided, in addition to the order of protection, to file for divorce. Franky was to pick up Jude and her children this morning and bring them all to the deMedici Law office so they could walk through and sign the paperwork.  
  
As she made her way to the shelter, she took a round about way in order to pass down a street she had not seen since before she went into Wentworth. She slowed as she approached the building she was looking for, holding her breath. It was still there, the place she was going to take Erica tomorrow night. Franky exhaled, and continued to her destination.  
  
When she pulled up to the sprawling, suburban ranch house that provided a shelter for battered women, Franky thought there was something a bit off. She expected to see children outside playing, people moving about. It was very quiet. _Maybe there is a play area in the back._ She approached the door and knocked.  
  
No one answered. She twisted the knob and and the door fell open. She couldn’t see anyone.  
  
“Oi! Franky here, looking for Jude…” Still nothing. Then she heard a child crying somewhere toward what must have been the back of the house. She followed the sound and entered the kitchen.  
  
There must have been 30 women and children in there, huddled, trying to keep quiet. All heads turned toward her as she entered. As did the barrel of the gun that Jude’s husband had pressed against her ear.  
  
An hour later, Michael wondered where in the hell Franky was. She should be back by now. Michael rang her mobile. The line opened, but there was silence. Then breathing.  
  
Michael spoke first. “Doyle?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“Still at Jude’s. I need you to listen to me carefully.”  
  
Michael was instantly alarmed. Franky didn’t sound right.  
  
“Jude’s husband is here with a firearm. It is currently pressed against my head. He wants media. He says he has something to say. If he can have his say, no one will get hurt.”  
  
At first Michael thought this had to be some strange prank. But there was nothing here that made any sense. This was not a game Franky would play.  
  
“This is serious.”  
  
“Very.”  
  
“ _Franky_ …” Michael had a strange sensation in her chest. It was tight. She could barely breathe.  
  
“Do not tell Erica,” Franky yelled as the phone was snatched from her.  
  
A mans voice. “Who is it, then?”  
  
“My name is Michael deMedici. I am Jude Townsen’s barrister. Who is this?”  
  
“Who the fuck is this then, this Franky!?”  
  
“She’s my associate. Don’t hurt her. She’s done nothing to you.”  
  
“Can you get the media here?”  
  
“I can, but you must promise not to hurt anyone.”  
  
The phone went dead.  
  
Michael immediately dialed 0-0-0. Then she dialed Kerry Vincent, head of Melbourne Tactical Response. She knew they would figure out soon enough that Franky Doyle was a deMedici employee, but she wanted Kerry to know personally that she had the resources of the firm at her disposal. That Franky was a personal friend and highly valued member of Michael’s staff.  
  
Then she walked across the street to the Public Defenders office.  
  
****************************************  
  
As her driver approached the crime scene, Michael was pleased to see that the Melbourne Tactical Response Team had already arrived. There was a small crowd gathered, but it had barely been fifteen minutes since she’d been on the phone with Franky and the media had not yet arrived.  
  
She looked across the back seat of the Town Car at Erica Davidson. She had seen her a number of times before but had never really looked at her. Erica was very pretty, well put together, clearly very sophisticated. And right now she was white as a sheet. When Michael had gone to collect her, the woman had practically passed out when she, admittedly rather dryly, delivered the news that her girlfriend was currently held hostage by an angry husband embroiled in a domestic violence case. Michael had intentionally disregarded Franky’s request not to tell Erica. It seemed ridiculous to her that Erica shouldn’t know her partner was in danger. Michael would want to know if Franky was in danger, and they were just friends.  
  
She opened the door to exit the car and approach Inspector Vincent to see if there was anything she could do to help. Unfortunately, she knew this police squad fairly well and had a business-like, quid-pro-quo practical relationship with the Inspector. Erica stumbled out of the other side of the car.  
  
“You should stay here,” Michael said. “It could be dangerous.”  
  
Erica ignored her and began moving, almost running toward the crime scene. She was immediately blocked by the police at the outside perimeter. She  scuffled with them.  
  
Michael approached and grabbed Erica by the upper arm. “She’s with me. I’m deMedici. Please radio to Inspector Vincent for permission to approach.”  
  
Erica looked up at her, glassy eyed.  
  
“You have to stay calm, stay with me. She’s going to be fine. Don’t make this more of a scene than it is. She’ll want to see you not being an absolute mess when this is finished.”  
  
Erica blinked at her, and straightened up. “I can do that,” she said.  
  
“Good.” They got a nod from the officer and he lifted the tape for them to duck underneath. “Just stay with me,” Michael said, continuing to pull Erica by the arm.  
  
As the got closer to the Tactical Response SUV, the Inspector spotted them and rolled her eyes. Kerry Vincent was a wiry, formidable woman; auburn-haired, blue eyes, late 40’s. Very attractive. Michael liked her, despite their ostensibly oppositional stances in the law enforcement community. Kerry busted criminals mostly successfully. Michael defended them, almost always successfully.  
  
“Who the fuck is this, deMedici! You know I don’t even have to let you in here. This is a favor.”  
  
Before Michael could respond, the scene in front of the house exploded into activity.  
  
“Get down on the ground!”  
  
“Drop your weapon!”  
  
“Police! Get down on the ground and put down your weapon!”  
  
Michael, only because of her height, was able to see what had happened before she pulled Erica down into a crouching position next to her. A man had exited the house with one arm hooked around Franky’s neck, the other holding a small caliber pistol to her temple. She seemed fairly calm.  
  
“Can you see anything?” Erica pleaded, grabbing the front of Michael’s jacket. “Is she alright?”  
  
“She’ll be fine,” Michael responded. “It may take awhile. We just have to wait.” Erica’s fists trembled against her chest. Michael was oddly distracted by this. She started thinking about Erica Davidson, Franky’s partner, here next to her, holding on for dear life. She felt herself wanting to comfort the woman, this person that Franky loved. She wanted Franky to know she had taken good care of Erica during this crisis. But it was a foreign sensation, this caring that extended beyond her own personal boundaries, her own blood family. She wasn’t sure what to do with it.  
  
She peered up over the crowd and saw a female Tactical Response officer negotiating with the gunman, who had slightly relaxed his stance. The gun was no longer pointed at Franky’s head. As Michael watched, the gunman nodded at what the officer said to him. After several minutes, he pushed Franky away from him and carefully put his gun on the ground, standing up with his hands behind his head. The rest of the team swarmed him as Franky was escorted to an ambulance.  
  
Michael stood up and started toward the ambulance and Franky.  
  
“DeMedici! Stop! Shit!” The Inspector yelled after her. Kerry Vincent did succeed in keeping Erica from following.  
  
Michael reached the ambulance at the same time as Franky, and instead of allowing the medical attendant to check her out, pulled Franky into a tight embrace. She felt Franky breathe a sigh of relief against her chest and pulled back enough to look down at her face.  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
“I’m fine, deMedici. Believe it or not, much scarier things have happened to me inside Wentworth.”  
  
The medic interrupted. “I need to check your vitals.” Franky complied. Michael watched.  
  
“I think your girlfriend is about to shit a pink twinkie over there,” Michael deadpanned, feeling strangely light and jubilant at this outcome.  
  
Franky looked over at the melange of cops, press and onlookers to the side and immediately saw Erica staring wildly at her. “Jesus, deMedici. You might have mentioned that sooner.” She shook off the medic and made her way away from Michael and toward Erica.  
  
Michael watched Franky go, and then followed slowly after. She should get them home. And find out more about the arsehole husband of Jude Townsen. This could be a crazy fluke or he could be a tool. Either way, someone had threatened part of the deMedici establishment and Michael meant to make sure it was an isolated incident. A few days before she’d had a rather unsettling conversation with a lead client, Ricci, the one for whom a witness had recently been murdered. He had mentioned her friend specifically, how happy he was with the work so far of Michael’s team, specifically the new associate, Franky Doyle.  
  
He shouldn’t know who was doing which work on the case, as several associates were doing research. Franky was strikingly beautiful, so was often noticed for that reason. But the proximity of that comment from Ricci and this idiot hostage situation set Michael’s teeth on edge. Too much exposure for a first year associate, particularly one as dynamic as Franky. It was going to attract the wrong type of attention.  
  
They were now in Michael’s town car, headed back toward the office.  
  
“Why don’t you take a couple of days, Doyle. Get some rest.”  
  
“I’m fine. I need to work. We may as well wrap up this paperwork for Townsen — no doubt about the outcome now.”  
  
Erica was tucked tightly against her. “Franky, please…”  
  
“You got anything to drink in here, deMedici?” Franky asked.  
  
Michael pressed a button and a panel slid back across from where they were seated in the spacious back seat, revealing a well-stocked liquor bar. Franky scooted across and poured a large tumbler about a third full of scotch, passed it to Erica. She dropped a couple of ice cubes into second glass and splashed vodka over it for herself, then turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at Michael.  
  
“I’ll have what Erica is having.” Franky passed her a tumbler of scotch, neat. “What’s your home address, Erica?” She knew it. She knew a lot about Erica Davidson, but it would be déclassé to demonstrate it now. Erica told her and she pressed the intercom next to her seat, instructing the driver to go to that address instead of the office. “I don’t want to see you for the rest of the day, Doyle. You come in tomorrow, that’s your problem.”  
  
Franky glared at her. Michael winked back, inclining her head at Erica, who was still plastered to her side. Franky rolled her eyes, kissed Erica’s head. “Fine.”  
  
*************************************  
  
The stress of the morning events definitely took its toll. Once they arrived at Erica’s flat, they had both instantly fallen asleep tangled together on the lounge. When they awoke, they talked through the events of the day while Franky prepared them an early dinner. Franky was able to convince Erica that she really wasn’t going to have any trauma issues with this incident. “Cake, compared to the Freak,” Franky had said.  
  
They tumbled into bed early, both too exhausted for any shenanigans.  
  
Erica woke with a start. She peered across the bed at the clock. It was barely four in the morning. She was naked, gloriously naked and almost entirely on top of Franky. It had been several nights since they’d been in bed together, let alone without clothing. She stroked Franky’s ribs lightly, not wanting to disturb the younger woman’s sleep. She felt the familiar stirring in her center and tried to tamp it down. She really wanted to get where Franky wanted them to be, and that meant no sex until Franky said so.  
  
Franky smelled delicious. Erica lightly kissed the top of the round, firm breast that had been under her cheek. Franky didn’t stir. Erica slowly slid up Franky’s body until her lips were even with Franky’s neck and jaw. She kissed her there lightly, again, trying not to wake her. But it was so enticing to feel that skin under her lips and fingers. When Erica’s hand brushed Franky’s nipple, Franky swiftly caught her hand.  
  
She turned her head toward where Erica’s lips were on her neck. “You’re being a very, very bad girl, Miss Davidson,” she said, kissing her fully.  
  
Erica sighed into the kiss, seeking more. “Mmmmm,” she hummed against Franky’s lips.  
  
Franky’s breathing was rapid as she pulled Erica’s hand from her breast, up around her neck and flipped them over so Franky was on top, one thigh pressing against Erica’s center. Franky could feel the wetness there already. Erica moaned. Franky was losing control, she wanted this so badly.  
  
She deepened the kiss, diving headlong into the taste and feel of her lover. It had been so long. She hooked a long, smooth thigh up over her hip and felt Erica squeeze her bum, pressing against Franky’s thigh harder.  
  
“Yes,” Erica whispered. “Fuck me, Franky. Please.”  
  
It was Erica’s voice making words that snapped Franky out of the spell. _Not yet. So close but not yet. Don’t stuff this up._ She pulled herself away. It felt violent, the separation. She sprang back, across the room, panting.  
  
Erica made a feral sound, curling up into a ball on the bed now empty of her lover.  
  
Franky pulled on her sports bra and shorts and left. She ran the nearly 15 kilometers back to her South Wharf loft.  
  
*******************************  
  
Even Erica had managed to make it into the office. She needed the distraction of work to keep her from losing her mind. After Franky had left her this morning, she had almost pulled her hair out. She took a cold shower, then went into the office arriving at about 6:30am, looking rather severe. Even the most obtuse of the first-year associates gave her a wide berth.  
  
Just after lunch, a package arrived for her. She opened the card. _Compliments of Michael deMedici._ She opened the box. It was a ridiculously expensive bottle of scotch. Maybe she and Franky’s boss could be friends after all. She considered the extraordinary care with which Michael had collected her from the office yesterday, taken her to the crime scene, and delivered Franky safely into her arms. Then she thought about the moment when the hostage-taker surrendered. How Michael had access to inside the scene where Erica didn’t — Erica had been left on the sidelines.  
  
Maybe being friends with Michael deMedici was premature. She could respect and appreciate that Michael cared about Franky’s well-being, though. And that she had an ally there.  
  
Her mobile pinged. Incoming text. They had got rid of the burners months ago. _Pick you up at 8pm. Wear something sexy._ Erica felt herself tearing up. She didn’t know how she would survive the evening without dissolving into a sobbing mess. She felt completely frayed.  
  
But she also knew that when she was with Franky, things righted themselves. When she trusted Franky, she felt happy, secure, grounded. When she tried to control things, do mental gymnastics to rationalize things that weren’t even supposed to make sense, she got into trouble and generally made things worse. She took a deep breath and decided to go home early and get ready for her date.  
  
Franky knocked on her door exactly at 8:00pm. When Erica opened the door, they were both struck speechless as they looked one another up and down. Franky wore high heeled black boots with silver metal trim on the heel. Black trouser pants with a  tight, white silk blouse tucked into them. It was unbuttoned dangerously low, revealing that damn tattoo and a very lacy black bra. Over the shirt she wore a tailored silk jacket that hung loosely off her shoulders, but managed to accentuate the curves underneath the white blouse.  
  
Erica was dressed simply but devastatingly in a black halter dress that flared out around her waist, stopping just above her knees. Three inch strappy-heeled sandals, a black clutch, and silver dangling earrings completed the look. Her hair was down, a little wild, reminding Franky of the first time she’d seen her post-Wentworth, at the family dinner to which Nic had dragged her. Franky thanked the universe for that moment as she stared at Erica, her mouth open.  
  
The million-watt smile appeared. Erica blushed.  
  
“Your carriage awaits, my lady,” Franky said.  
  
Erica wrapped her hand around Franky's arm, closing and locking the door to her flat behind her. Soon they were tooling along in Franky’s Audi. Despite her anxiety and frustration all day, being with Franky, holding her hand as they drove along through Melbourne neighborhoods, made her feel like everything was going to be fine. She embraced the moment and smiled at Franky. Franky smiled back, then stopped the car. Erica waited for Franky to open her door, and took the proffered hand up out onto the curb as Franky passed her car keys to the valet.  
  
Erica finally looked up at the club marquis. It was The Velvet Curtain.  



	11. But How Long Can Anyone Try?

Erica had been here before. A long time ago, pre-Wentworth. Her father had sent her as lead attorney on a case for which the firm represented the night club and its owner on charges of libel. She had visited the club a few times to have papers signed, but only stayed a few minutes. _My father assigned me here. My father who recently immediately understood why I didn’t want to be with Mark and had no issues with me suddenly becoming a lesbian. Could he possible have known, way back then?_ It was borderline ‘too much information’ about what her father might know about her sexual identity and proclivities. She filed it away for later reflection.  
  
When she had been there before, the very first time, she had been fascinated, even entertained by what she saw in the club — the costumes, the role play, the range of sexual identity and interplay. But she had been very secure in her sense of privilege and respectability. None of these people were like her. They were a spectacle. Nothing more.  
  
Then, on her way out of the club she had been drawn to, peered into a private, curtained room off to one side. Inside was a scene she would have liked to compare to Dante’s Inferno, if she hadn’t been so incredibly captivated by it. Less clothing. More skin. Actual sex acts. Men with men. Two men with one women. Women with women. Her skin burned and she couldn’t breathe. She felt herself being drawn in, pulled along a line that extended from the middle of her belly to a woman’s finger across the room, beckoning her. She had almost stepped forward when she heard Tom, the owner, at her shoulder.  
  
“Why don’t you stay awhile?”  
  
She had fled. And the other times she had to visit the club, she came armed with a steely reserve and conviction not to stray from the path that led her from the front door, to Tom to sign papers, then back out into the secure light of day. Back to a blossoming relationship with an incredibly thoughtful, considerate, lovely, respectable and safe, heterosexual — like Erica — man named Mark Pearson.  
  
In the present moment, Erica was scared to death. She paused on the threshold at the top of the stairs, just inside the door. She turned to Franky. She grabbed Franky’s soft, silk blazer in both hands. “I can’t do this.”  
  
Franky was cocky. “Yes you can,” she said simply, unclenching Erica’s fists from her clothing. She took Erica by the hand and led her down the stairs.  
  
They reached the landing at the bottom and Tom was there, greeting entering guests. Erica hoped dispairingly that he wouldn’t remember her.  
  
“Can that be Franky Doyle?” Tom boomed loudly. “Girl, its been too bloody long! Where have you been?”  
  
Franky beamed. “Out of commission for a bit, I’m afraid. But it’s good to be back.” She tried to free her hand to shake Tom’s, but Erica had a death grip on it. Franky hugged him one-armed, instead. “This is my partner, Erica,” she continued, inclining her head.  
  
Erica had been looking everywhere but at Tom, but was finally forced to make eye contact.  
  
“Well well, Miss Davidson,” he said, warmly. “How long has it been? I’d always hoped you’d come back, spend some quality time.”  
  
Franky hid her shock from the Maitre’d but indicated it to Erica by roughly hooking an arm around her waist pulling her in tightly and kissing her on the cheek. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?” She said quietly. Her expression, focused on Erica, was a mix of anger, consternation and delight.  
  
Erica finally found her voice as she reached out to shake Tom’s hand. “It was business. Honestly, I had completely forgotten about it.”  
  
Tom gave her a disbelieving look, then laughed. “Well, there is nothing forgettable about you, Erica,” he responded. Then looked over their shoulders, distracted by new arrivals. “I look forward to catching up with you both.”  
  
Franky drew Erica over to the bar and ordered them both drinks. Erica sat on a stool and Franky pushed up between her legs, into her personal space. Erica tried to remain calm, already overstimulated but not wanting Franky to know it. She eyed the room, feigning a calm casualness that she was far from feeling.  
  
Franky placed her hands on Erica’s hips and met her gaze. “You want to tell me why you never mentioned you’d been here before?”  
  
Erica channeled her abject fear into anger. “I _said_ I’d forgotten about it,” she retorted.  
  
Franky smiled, that cocky, knowing grin that Erica was beginning to despise. She knew she didn’t belong here. She was irate that Franky thought they did. Whatever was between them, it wasn’t this, this perverse depravity! It was one thing to witness the spectacle. It was another thing entirely to be a part of it.  
  
“I thought we were through with the lying, Erica,” she whispered into her ear as her hands found the exposed skin in Erica’s backless dress. She placed a trail of soft kisses down her neck. Erica was stiff, hard as metal. Franky pulled back and met her eyes again. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you that you don’t want to happen.”  
  
Erica gritted her teeth. “Exactly.”  
  
There it was. The final barrier to their perfect union. At a very base level, Erica was still conflicted about, hadn’t embraced their kink. Hadn’t been able to accept who they were. Franky had known this from the beginning. Erica had become so accustomed to believing her own lies, she didn’t know truth from fiction. She didn’t even hear the truth when she inadvertently said it.  
  
_If the circles she keeps running were lines,_ Franky mused _, how much further would we be?_   She watched the internal conflict behind Erica’s smoldering eyes. _We will straighten you out tonight._  
  
Their drinks arrived and Franky turned round, pulling one of Erica’s arms about her waist.  
  
“I don’t belong here. _We_ don’t belong here,” Erica hissed into her lover’s ear.  
  
“Have a drink. Try to simmer down. If you really don’t want to be here, we’ll go. But there’s something I want to show you first.”  
  
Had Franky just given in, given her an out? Erica tried to slow her breathing and take small sips from her scotch. She relaxed slightly against Franky’s back, pushing aside the anger and allowing herself to feel Franky. The safety and care she’d always experienced with her. The love. She took a deep breath. Let it out. This was just a date. Just an evening out. At a kinky club. One of many adventures she would likely be having with her charismatic, fearless lover. She gave herself permission to really see the people, the outfits, the interactions. It was actually quite fascinating. Nic would love this story.  
  
She finished her drink and placed her empty glass on the bar. Franky did the same, then pulled her from the stool and led her away from the main part of the club and dance floor, toward the back of the establishment.  
  
It wasn’t until they’d actually reached the drapes that Erica remembered what was behind them. The place she absolutely did not want to go, neither in reality nor in her mind. The pull had been relentless the last time, the draw down, down into darkness. She stopped in her tracks.  
  
Franky felt the hard stop behind her but didn’t miss a step. She yanked Erica, hard, beyond the curtain and fully into the room.  
  
Erica closed her eyes, resolving not to look at anything _. As long as she didn’t see, she couldn’t be pulled in._ She noticed that Franky kept moving, confidently. She must know the place well. Erica’s heart sank. Surely Franky wasn’t into _this_ level of perversion.  
  
They stopped moving. Franky turned her around so they were both facing the room. She wrapped her arms securely around Erica’s waist and pressed her lips to her ear. “You’re cheating. You need to open your eyes.”  
  
Erica pulled Franky’s arms tighter around her. “No, Franky. Please don’t make me do this. I need to leave now. I can’t…” Erica had no more words. She did feel safe with Franky, in her arms. It was her own desire, her own strange needs, that frightened her. What Franky might think. That Franky would finally reject her.  
  
“Erica,” Franky whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the noise in the room. She extended the ‘aaaaah’ sound at the end of her lover's name, pushing a soft waft of air into Erica’s ear. She shuddered. Franky continued. “You’re forgetting everything you know about me. About us. Try to remember. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”  
  
_That you don’t want me to do,_ Erica filled in the unspoken promise that she knew was her undoing. But she needed Franky. She realized, finally, that she would do anything for her lover. Everything. She didn’t just love Franky. She was addicted to her touch. She couldn’t imagine there was anyone else on the planet that completed her in the manner Franky Doyle did. And she didn’t want to ever stop feeling this way. Erica opened her eyes.  
  
And was immediately overwhelmed by the sights and sounds that bombarded her senses. Latex. Feathers. Silk. Plastic. Metal. And sex. The room was dimly lit, but there were several spotlighted areas where hardcore sex acts were being performed. Things Erica hadn’t imagined two, three, even four or more people could do to one another. Erica couldn’t even blink. Her eyes flitted across the room, back and forth, schizophrenically. She felt her pulse racing and her breathing became rapid pants. She wanted it all.  
  
Erica didn’t know how long she’d been staring. Her eyes were watering. Or was she crying? She couldn’t tell. She leaned her head back on Franky’s shoulder, finally taking a break from the visual smorgasbord. She wasn’t repulsed by what she was seeing. She was deeply stimulated by it. She imagined being out there, under a spotlight, having people watch Franky pleasure her, own her. She wanted everyone to know, as surely as she did, where she belonged. And she knew she would do it if Franky asked her to.  
  
“Do you like being here with me? Watching with me?” Franky whispered into her ear.  
  
“Yes,” Erica felt herself sliding down, into a dark place.  
  
“Good. I like being here with you.”  
  
Franky began placing burning kisses down her neck. Erica pulled Franky’s hand up toward her breast, pushing their interlaced fingers inside the top of her dress. Franky stopped the motion just short of Erica’s nipple. She turned her head a bit more and Franky kissed her. Erica moaned into the kiss, wanting more, needing more. Now. She pulled Franky’s other hand down towards her throbbing sex. Again, Franky stopped the movement just short of Erica’s goal.  
  
Erica turned in Franky’s arms, breaking the kiss. Franky’s eyes were emerald fire. _Why isn’t she doing anything? I know she wants this as much as I do. Why won’t she fuck me? I know she wants it, wants to humiliate me in front of this entire room of people. Wants everyone to know how much I want her. How much I need her. Arrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!!!_  
  
Erica was at a complete loss. She thought she was doing what Franky wanted. Franky was staring at her, brow furrowed in frustration.  
  
Erica just let go. Stopped trying to control anything. Stopped trying to guess what Franky wanted. Stopped trying to control her emotions. She sank to her knees, pressing her forehead against Franky’s thigh, and sighed.  
  
Franky could have wept.  
  
She put her hand down into Erica’s hair, stroking her head, softly, letting Erica feel this moment of surrender. Of true submission. Up until the last instant, Erica had been trying to control the momentum, force things that she wasn’t ready for. She had no idea what she was doing, what she was asking for. What she really wanted and needed.  
  
Franky chuckled as she continued to stroke Erica’s hair, tangling her fingers there. Neither of them were ready for public sex. Erica may never be ready for that, even though the fantasy was certainly titillating. But Erica did like to watch, and be watched. And she was a visual learner. Franky’s smile turned naughty. This was a room of ideas, not a theater of play for them. _At least not yet._  
  
She leaned over and pulled Erica up by the shoulders, holding her tightly. Erica clung to her. Then Franky kissed her, tenderly. When she pulled back, Erica seemed calm, but she looked utterly lost.  
  
She turned Erica gently, pressed her against the wall, one thigh between her legs against her center. “There’s a lot going on in here,” Franky said. And kissed her. Erica’s eyes flitted about the room then returned to Franky’s face. She nodded. “I meant in here,” Franky kissed her forehead. Then kissed her lips again, a bit deeper than the last, nearly chaste one.  
  
Erica wanted to pull Franky in, be devoured. But she waited. She certainly didn’t need to push things further than Franky wanted to take them right now. And she was still completely bewildered by what was happening between them from second to second.  
  
“I know that you trust me.” Erica nodded. “You have to learn to follow my lead. I know what I’m doing in here,” she flipped her head to indicate the room. “And in here.” She kissed Erica’s forehead again. “We are so special together, so well matched. You have to start paying attention to that or we are going to get into trouble. Beyond places where either of us have control. Do you understand that?”  
  
Erica shook her head in the negative.  
  
“God, Erica,” Franky said. “You have to understand what you do to me.” Then she kissed her. Deeply. As their lips and tongues battled, Franky slipped both hands under Erica’s dress, leaving a trail of electricity up her thighs until she had grabbed Erica’s arse, grinding her thigh into Erica’s pussy.  
  
_Finally._ Erica sighed into the kiss, trying to take it deeper, pulling Franky in harder against her aching sex.  
  
Franky ended the kiss, panting and whispered, breathing harshly in Erica’s ear. “You want me to fuck you. Now.”  
  
“God yes. Please. Fuck me now Franky.” Erica leaned in for another deep kiss.  
  
Franky groaned. “We need to go, before we become part of the show.”  
  
Erica blinked at her, shocked. “You don’t want to…?”  
  
Franky reluctantly removed her hands from inside Erica’s dress and braced herself against the wall, bracketing Erica’s head with her forearms, so their heads were pressed together. “Baby. We may never be ready for that. But it’s fun to watch. Get ideas. Play a little. Yeah?”  
  
The dynamic was starting to clarify itself for Erica.  
  
“And you. Are. Delicious,” Franky said, between kisses. “We could fuck here. Now. But…,” she looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know that I’ll ever want to share you — even just for viewing pleasure — with these mutts.” She gave that wicked, smarmy grin that Erica did not, in fact, despise. “We just need balance. I lead. You follow. I do take my cues from you, though, Baby. If we keep winding each other up, I’m going to lose control and we’re going to end up as the spectacle, out there under a spotlight. I’m not sure either of us want that. I’m not sure we could survive it.”  
  
Erica had spent so much time and energy being afraid of the extremes of this kink, that she had completely missed what Franky was offering her. What Erica wanted all along, if she had been able to put aside her arrogance and righteousness — her perceived sense of respectability — long enough to appreciate the possibilities. What Franky shared with her was the fantasy, the exploration, the fun of doing what felt good to them both. And it was just between them. No one in this club, or anywhere else for that matter, may ever know about the whip. Or the riding crop. Or.. Erica still wasn’t sure what most of that other stuff in the drawer was. She hadn’t been too adventurous so far. But this room gave her many, many shocking ideas. It was suddenly all clear as a bell. She mentally smacked herself. Hard.  
  
And she actually didn’t have any problem, at all, with Franky taking the lead.  
  
Erica leaned her head back against the wall, brow furrowed. She was painfully embarrassed that it had taken her this long, this much drama, to figure it out. “What I don't understand, Franky Doyle, is why you keep putting up with me?”  
  
Franky grinned wickedly. Erica felt the promise in that grin from her scalp to her little toes.  
  
“You mean aside from being crazy in love with you? I’ll remind you when we get home.”  
  
*******************************  
Erica was kneeling on Franky’s bed, handcuffed to the grappling hook, practicing her own smarmy, wicked grin on Franky. Franky was in front of her rubbing aloe gel along her arms, stomach, thighs, and finally her breasts, having already covered the back. She was trying desperately not to kiss that stupid grin off Erica’s face. She gave in anyway.  
  
When they’d returned from The Velvet Curtain, Franky had found Erica to be calm and confident in a way she hadn’t expected. It both disturbed and excited her.  
  
Erica had asked permission to handcuff herself and get on the hook. Then she had waited patiently, not even protesting or asking questions when Franky gagged her for the first time. Franky whipped her for “making them wait so long” and Erica never made a sound. She was wild-eyed, absolutely. But also seemed energized rather than over-stimulated. When Franky put her fingers on Erica’s clit, expecting her to explode into orgasm — taking the edge off — Erica had begun a slow, maddening grind against Franky’s hand while never losing eye contact.  
  
It was, in fact, Franky who had removed the gag so she could kiss the girl. This saucy submissiveness had already ratcheted things up to a new level. Franky needed some time to adjust. Meanwhile, she was trying to balance giving them both what they needed in the game versus putting away all the toys and just going at it. But after being in the club, Franky was betting on the kink being what was called for in this instant.  
  
She was now rubbing her down with aloe, to sooth the stings left behind by the whip. Franky was fine and focused while coating Erica’s backside. But when she came round front and was face-to-face with her lover, massaging the gel into her breasts, Erica licked her lips in the most outrageous manner Franky had ever seen, let alone imagined, Erica doing. There was nothing to be done but kiss her then, completely distracted from the task at hand. Which should have been disciplining Erica.  
  
She came up for air several minutes later, after it became clear Erica wasn’t pawing her back, then she remembered that Erica was handcuffed to the ceiling. For good reason. She backed away.  
  
“You’re dangerous,” Franky said, with no small amount of awe. Erica grinned at her again. She was getting that cocky thing down pretty quickly. “Jesus.”  
  
She unhooked Erica from the ceiling and pushed her roughly down, face first onto the bed, and handcuffed Erica to the bars in the headboard. Franky then kissed a line down the middle of the prone woman's back. As she got closer to her bum, Erica began to moan. Franky shoved a pillow under her hips, which presented her sex right at Franky’s eye level. Erica spread her legs wider, even before Franky told her to.  
  
Franky smiled and kissed her clitoris lightly, stroking her tongue the length from Erica’s clit down along her outer and inner lips into to her opening, then back up. She did that several times, then took a chance, continuing to move past Erica’s opening, past the little patch of skin that separated the front door from the back door, and licked around the tiny, pink, puckered opening.  
  
Erica gasped.

Franky blew on it, then kissed her there.  
  
“Fuck, Franky!” she said.  
  
“Do you want me to stop?”  
  
“No. I like it. Do it more. Go inside.”  
  
_Un-fucking-filtered Erica._ Franky pushed her tongue as far into Erica’s arse hole as it would go, pleased to hear the gutteral moan in response. She put three fingers in Erica’s pussy and began long, slow strokes, still using her tongue in the back. Erica’s orgasm hit them both suddenly. It wasn’t long or hard, but surprising. Franky hadn’t felt the usual precursor twitch inside Erica’s cunt. Her thighs clamped around Franky's wrist. By now, Erica had learned to relax into the orgasm, keeping her legs open, prolonging the pleasure for herself and Franky. But this was a different thing, it seemed.  
  
She moved up Erica’s back, until she was laying fully on her. “Are you alright.”  
  
“Yes,” Erica said. "That was... nice." She took a deep breath, smiling shyly. “I just need you to really fuck me now.”  
  
“Ok,” Franky bit her shoulder and went to their treasure drawer for the strap on. As she climbed back onto the bed, Erica raised up on all fours, her bum higher in the air, wiggling in anticipation. Franky didn’t make her wait, pushing the dildo all the way into the hilt. They both groaned. And Franky fucked her. Hard and fast, bottoming out with each stroke. Erica met her rhythm enthusiastically.  
  
She could tell Erica was getting close. But it was taking a long time. No one was complaining. Franky was actually enjoying the increased athleticism and stamina that seemed to inhabit Erica this evening. The longer build up. She hoped it meant better climaxing for them both.  
  
Erica was chanting her name now. “Franky. Franky. Franky. Franky,” with each stroke.  She didn’t think. She just said what was in her mind. “I need you to fuck me in the arse!”  
  
Franky didn’t miss a beat. Unfiltered Erica was Franky’s master. She pushed one, then two fingers into Erica’s bum. Erica’s orgasm came so hard she howled and shook, and was still shaking and insensible when Franky pulled her into her arms after removing the strap-on. Erica clutched at her, pressing herself onto Franky’s thigh as she rode through several smaller orgasm aftershocks.  
  
And she still had the energy and focus to make Franky come in her mouth. Which was a truly new inspiration. Erica had taken instruction from Franky about how to masturbate, to get Franky off with her fingers, but they hadn’t discussed Erica going down on Franky. Erica wanted to do it, but was too embarrassed about her lack of experience to ask. Franky didn’t push, assuming it was just past Erica’s comfort zone. But this was unfiltered Erica. She asked for what she wanted, and she got it.  
  
Erica next asked about the nipple clamps and the butt plug.  
  
The grey light of dawn was illuminating the loft by the time they finally got to sleep.


	12. Some Heavenly Star-Spangled Night

The next day, they didn’t wake up until afternoon. Erica woke first, which was unusual. She gently rolled off of Franky without waking her and leaned on one elbow, watching her lover sleep. She looked so innocent, almost childlike. Erica rarely had the opportunity to see this side of Franky. The ‘little girl’ Franky was carefully guarded by the ‘grown-up’ Franky, for good reason. She had been physically and emotionally abused by her mother and abandoned by her father.   
  
Franky had been through things that no person should have to endure, including several years in prison. And now she was here with Erica. Loving her. In love with her. And Erica was positively over the moon.   
  
She turned onto her back and closed her eyes. She felt like she was going to float away and bunched her fists in the sheets to keep herself anchored there. Free. She felt free. Happy. Finally. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way. She started to laugh.  
  
Franky pounced, turning Erica’s laugh into an _oomph_! and a giggle as she dropped her full weight on top of Erica’s body. She snuggled into Erica’s neck, pressing a sleepy kiss there. “What’s so funny?”  
  
Erica started her fingers on Franky’s bum and drew them slowly up her sides and onto her upper back, then travelled the same route back to her bum, stopping there, squeezing the firm backside. “Not funny so much. I’m just happy, Franky.” She flipped them over and sat up astride Franky’s hips. “I’ve never felt like this before.”   
  
Franky yawned, then smiled, somewhat bashfully. She looked away, then looked back at Erica.  
  
 _Shy Franky? Where’s the smartarse comment? The belittling retort?_ Erica was delighted and surprised. Then she realized she could still see the little girl there, the one that had been sleeping only moments ago. “I love you, Franky.”  
  
Franky closed her eyes. Her brow creased, as if she was in pain. But before Erica could say anything, Franky sat up quickly, squeezing her tightly. She pressed her lips between Erica’s breasts, and said into her skin there, “It’s a good thing. Or this would be awkward.”  
  
Erica looked down into those jade irises. Very grown up, sexy green eyes. Franky arched an eyebrow suggestively and rolled them over so she was now on top of Erica, with Erica’s legs wrapped around her waist. She wondered where the ‘little girl’ Franky went so quickly, and why. Something to explore. Later.  
  
“You can’t be serious.” Erica was sore in places she never realized had muscles. And burning in places she did. Either way, she wasn’t up to sex at the moment. And she was hungry.  
  
Franky winked at her. “Oi. I think you broke me last night, Miss Davidson.”  
  
“That would be a shame. I had such plans for you.”  
  
“Don’t you worry. Hearty breakfast and some shopping, and I’ll be good as new.” She lifted herself off her lover and moved toward the bathroom.   
  
Erica was intrigued. “Shopping? Really?”  
  
“Yeah. Do you have plans today, Erica?”  
  
“No. I’m yours until Monday morning, if you’ll have me,” she said, curious as to what Franky had in mind. What could possibly follow The Velvet Curtain, except a day lounging in bed, recovering from the finally epic sex they’d had the night before?  
  
But Franky was practically bouncing. She turned and looked back at Erica. Erica was golden, gloriously naked and kneeling on the bed as if she belonged there. Perhaps she did. It had brieflly crossed her mind a few minutes earlier that she didn't deserve this, that something was going to happen to stuff everything to hell. It was the same feeling she'd had right before she'd got out of Wentworth, when she'd almost died in the fire.

But she forced those thoughts away. No matter what happened moving forward, Franky had never seen, touched, loved anyone more beautiful and perfect than Erica Davidson was at this moment. She was the luckiest girl in the world.

Franky thought for a moment. _If you'll have me? Did Erica really say that?_ She decided not to take the easy opening for a taunt. “Come shower with me. I’ll take you to breakfast on the Promenade. Then we need to shop.”  
  
*******************************  
  
It was two months later. Erica was in court, giving closing arguments. As soon as she’d started, she’d felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Which meant Franky had entered the courtroom and was back there watching her somewhere. She couldn’t pinpoint when it exactly started, but whenever Franky was near, Erica’s nerves went all jangly, starting with the hair standing up on the back of her neck. Erica stayed focused, but was careful to keep her back to the gallery, looking only at the jury and judge, while gesturing at her defendant. She hadn’t quite mastered not being somewhat distracted when her lover entered their professional spaces. Closing argument was not the time to be distracted.  
  
She finished, thanked the judge and jury, then turned to sit down next to her client. Only then did she allow herself one visual sweep of the gallery. She spotted Franky immediately. Franky smiled, gave her a thumbs up, then left quietly. Erica marveled at how warm a simple look from Franky still made her feel. The judge dismissed the court for jury deliberations. Erica assured her client, who was on his way back to jail until the verdict, that they had a good chance. Then she went back to her office.  
  
It was late, by office hour standards anyway, after 6:30pm. Yet five of six of the associates were still at their desks when she entered.  
  
“Franky isn’t coming by tonight,” she said as she passed them on the way to her private space. By the time she got to her desk, four of the five had gone. It was only Car, taking her time gathering her things. She was soon gone as well. Erica chuckled. Franky burned so brightly. Everyone was captivated, wanted to be near the warmth.  
  
She sat down to make some final notes about the case. About the prosecution’s closing arguments, then her own, then the rebuttal. She rang Franky’s mobile and got voicemail. She didn’t want to go home or to the loft if Franky wasn’t going to be there. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk. The scotch Michael had given her was still there, unopened. She decided to try it.  
  
As she sipped the incredibly dreamy, smooth and creamy, you-definitely-get-what-you-pay-for, scotch, she vowed to try harder to think of Michael deMedi as their mutual friend.   
  
Then she spent some time recounting she and Franky’s shopping trip after their Velvet Curtain date.  
  
 _After they’d showered, Erica had been directed to put on Franky’s clothes: denims, tee shirt and hoodie, and the dirty white chuck taylor’s. Erica liked wearing Franky’s clothes. They smelled like Franky, and made Erica feel like someone different as well. After they’d had breakfast at Citizen on the Promenade, Franky had handed her a pair of ultra dark Ray Ban sunglasses to wear. She pulled up the hoodie to cover most of Erica’s blond tresses, and then they’d gone shopping._  
  
 _At Lucrezia & De Sade. Erica had no idea these types of shops existed — it hadn’t occurred to her to look. She had seen — from afar, of course — ‘adult” shops, peep shows, girlsgirlsgirls, that sort of thing. But they all looked rather seedy. This shop was on Brunswick Street. Between a coffee shop and a bike store. It was a higher end boutique of sexy sex things. _  
  
_At first she was mortified. But then appreciated how Franky had outfitted her in the dark glasses and hoodie. As Franky started to walk her around, talk to her about specific things — and she noticed other people nonchalantly perusing the aisles — she began to relax and enjoy being there with her lover. Talking about sex. Toys they might try together. Franky had decided that they needed an entirely new set that belonged only to them._  
  
 _After two hours, Erica was ready to jump out of her skin. They had definitely replaced the toys Erica was familiar with — the strap-on, the nipple clamps, the whip and the riding crop. But then instead of the handcuffs, which could bite, they got some wrist and ankle restraints made of soft leather. And there were so many different styles of butt plugs — Erica was fascinated, and ended up choosing three that surprised Franky. They got a flogger and a paddle. And ben wa balls. Lube (which they hadn’t needed before, but was good to have on hand). They had talked so intimately about every single item they were purchasing, and what it’s uses were, that she could barely walk straight thinking about Franky using them on her. At the end Franky convinced Erica to try on bondage and harness bras, which made her feel silly until Franky kissed her and felt her up in the fitting room while she was wearing one._  
  
 _They picked up Thai, Indian and pizza on the way home. Franky was clear no one was going anywhere until Monday morning. They didn’t._  
  
Erica snapped out of her reverie and looked at the clock. it was now after 7:30. She wondered where Franky was. She decided to try her one more time, then head back to her flat. She picked up her mobile and it rang.  
  
“Hey Gorgeous.”  
  
“I was just about to ring you.”  
  
“I know,” Franky teased. “I am now able to read your mind. Don’t worry, though. I won’t let on what a dirty little mind it is. Can you come home?”  
  
Erica tried to suppress some dirty thoughts. “Yes. I was loitering around, waiting for you. I rang about an hour ago.” She couldn’t. God, the girl provoked her. “Do you want to know what my favorite fantasy about you was at Wentworth?”  
  
Franky went silent. Erica could hear her breathing speed up. This is what Franky meant by ‘winding each other up,’ Erica realized.   
  
“Yes I do, Miss Davidson,” Franky replied, enunciating very carefully. Controlled. “But I think you should come home and share that with me in person. After we eat.”   
  
They had been able to spend practically every night together for the past couple of months, and had sex nearly every day - sometimes more than once. It seemed to get more interesting, more intense, more exciting. Even food, eating meals together, often turned into amazing foreplay. Erica was now breathing rapidly herself.  
  
“Are you still at the office? We could go home together.”  
  
“We had a meeting that ran late on the other side of town. DeMedici just dropped me off at your flat about ten minutes ago.”  
  
Michael again. Erica’s heart twisted. She was still terribly jealous of Michael deMedici. She tried not to sound it, tried not to let it kill the mood.   
  
“Erica?”   
  
“Did you have dinner with Michael?”  
  
“No, I did not have dinner with Michael.” Franky sighed. Erica had killed the mood. “Come home. Now.” This was a command. “I’ll get something together for us here.”   
  
Erica had the good sense to be ashamed. She rang off, gathered her things, and headed home.  
  
When she opened the door to her flat, Franky was standing in the foyer with a small cooler and a large blanket, looking very annoyed. Erica was still stinging a bit from her joy-kill of the conversation earlier. She kissed Franky, lingering there, deepening it with apology and remorse. Franky let her. By the time it ended, they had both evened out.   
  
“What’s in the cooler?” Erica asked.  
  
“Dinner. Fancy a picnic on the beach?”  
  
Erica kissed Franky again. Of all things she hadn’t expected from this relationship, Franky Doyle had turned out to be a romantic. Erica often found little notes with Franky’s sloppy scrawl tucked into her suit pockets, or in her handbag or briefcase. Bits of chocolate. Franky had sent her flowers earlier in the week; and it wasn't the first time. She had started keeping a shoebox of the notes under the bed, so she could revisit them when Franky was out of town.   
  
Mark had never done anything like this. He was good on special occasions — her birthday, their ‘anniversary.’ But Franky made her feel thought about all the time. So why did she continue to harbor jealousies about Franky with other women? Would that ever go away for her?   
  
The kiss deepened — she wasn’t sure who shifted the energy — but Erica definitely felt the heat growing below her stomach. She pulled Franky’s blouse out of the tight slacks, pushing her hands up under it, against the bare skin of her back. Franky’s stomach growled, and she arched into Erica, trying to evade those seeking hands, finally ending the kiss and pulling Erica’s hands from her flesh.  
  
“Miss Davidson. You must feed the machine. Otherwise, she cannot keep up with you.” She smiled the smile that had first captured Erica’s heart years ago.  
  
They changed out of their office clothing into casual beachwear, and headed outside to share dinner under the stars.  
  
**************************  
  
Michael was at the penthouse, snacking on edamame in her room. She had just finished an hour in the lap pool and was feeling nicely tired, ready for sleep. Earlier in the evening, she had dropped Franky at home after a meeting with Alessandro Ricci, one of their lead clients. Michael didn’t like him at all — he was creepy, and he had been asking too many questions about Franky. And at the meeting today, it was like he couldn’t take his eyes off her. While she and Franky had been very focused on going over details of his upcoming testimony, he kept asking about the about the hostage event with Jude Townsen’s husband. At one point, when Franky excused herself to use the restroom, he had said to Michael how much more lovely he thought Franky was in person than on television.   
  
Michael was used to inappropriate men. Normally this wouldn’t have phased her. But again, the man made her skin crawl. She had asked her PI to do a more thorough background on this guy specifically. He was one of her firm’s bigger clients, and spent time socially with her father. There were a lot of things ‘not right’ about a lot of deMedici clients. Again, nothing unusual for Michael.  
  
She checked her email. Her PI had sent her two photos of young women. They were vaguely familiar. Both brown haired — one with blue eyes, one with brown. Olive-skinned. Pretty. Similar profile to Franky. She looked at the names, then actually read the text in the email.  
  
 _Two of your former first year associates, hired away from your firm by Alessandro Ricci. They have both been missing for over a year. I’m working with a mate at Melbourne PD to pull similar profile missing or unsolved murder cases over the past few years. I’ll have something for you first thing in the morning._  
  
Michael felt a chill. It was nearly 11pm. She was not one to panic but she wanted to call Franky, hear her voice. Warn her to watch her back. But it felt like an overreaction. And what would she say, anyway? She needed to wait until they had a fuller picture.  
  
She checked her email when she woke up at 5am. There was a new message from the PI. It was worse than she had feared. Twelve olive-skinned, brown-haired, twenty-something young women had gone missing over the past twelve months. Several of them could be connected to Alessandro Ricci, either personally or professionally. Four had been found murdered. At least pieces of them had been found. _Fuck — why the fuck didn’t he call with this!_  
  
She immediately rang Franky. It went to voicemail. She called Erica. A sleepy voice answered the phone.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Erica. It’s Michael. Is Franky there?”  
  
“Um, no. She just left. She runs sometimes in the morning.”   
  
“When did she leave?”  
  
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear her go.” Erica was sounding a bit more awake. “What’s going on?”  
  
 _Shit_. “Do you know which route she runs? Where she goes? How long does she take?”  
  
“Sometimes she goes from here to the loft. Sometimes she runs the beach and comes back here. Michael, what the hell is going on?” She was starting to sound panicked.  
  
Michael was panicking too, but knew it would be no good to set Erica off at this point.   
  
“I just need to find her. If you hear from her, tell her to ring me right away.” She rang off.   
  
She quickly catalogued her options. Definitely send deMedici Law security team out. And call her father. He would approve of her using resources to find a key staff person. He would care if someone harmed one of ‘his’ people. Even a first year associate — it was a violation of his turf. And especially if someone hurt a person who was important to his only daughter. That might save Franky from this deviant in the short term. But if Franky ever left deMedici employ; or if something had, god forbid, already happened to her….    
  
But he wouldn’t care about the other women who had been murdered. Women were toys for him -- for all the deMedici boys. Michael cared. Michael cared that her work might be defending a serial killer. That something might happen to Franky. That something had already happened to a number of other young women and nobody had noticed. She knew that her family associated with a number of questionable and even criminal businessmen. But they were businessmen. White collar crime. Gaming the system. Not preying on young women and killing them.  
  
First things first. She called her father. Explained to him what she had discovered and her theory about it. Asked him if he could help find Franky. He actually didn’t even question her further. He said he would take care of it.   
  
That scared Michael even more. Did her father somehow already know about Alessandro Ricci’s predilections? His possibly fatal appetite for young women? And he’d assigned his own daughter to this man’s defense? _Jesus Christ!_ Maybe it was time to get out of this fucking family.  
  
Either way, if any of this was true, Ricci had to be stopped. Not quietly, the deMedici way. Her father could likely find Franky. But it would end there for him, for his business and for his family. For Michael, it could not. All of those dead girls deserved better. At the very least, there was someone out there killing young women who fit the same basic profile as Franky Doyle. That person needed to be stopped.  
  
She called the head of deMedici security and filled him in on the basics of what she knew. She embellished a bit, saying that she and Franky had planned to meet to go running this morning, and Franky hadn’t turned up, wasn’t answering her phone, and her partner said she’d already left their home. She now had been missing more than an hour. Not necessarily ominous, but would they send someone out to cruise the route between the South Wharf loft and Erica Davidson’s St. Kilda flat in case the deMedici first year associate, member of Michael’s team, was out there somewhere needing help.  
  
Then she called Kerry Vincent.


	13. Fight it with All of our Might

Franky tried to open her eyes but was finding it hard going. _So heavy._ She could tell she was drugged. She thought it was heroin — enough recreational drug use in her wild and misspent youth pointed her now to that drowsy, lethargic feeling. But she didn’t remember the rush of high that usually comes before, so there must be some other narcotics in her system as well.  
  
She was naked, her hands and feet bound together. And she was lying on some hard surface. Not cold. She finally forced her eyes open a sliver. It was dark. But she could see small points of white light sprinkled across whatever was above her. For a moment she thought she had fallen asleep on the beach with Erica. Wishful thinking. Then she heard the voices.  
  
_How the fuck are we going to get her out of here?_  
  
_Dunno, mate. What the fuckall were you thinking snatching her in the first place? A deMedici slag?_  
  
_Mio dio cazzo! Just help me find something to wrap her in. Then we need to drop her somewhere._  
  
She felt rough hands on her body, fondling her breast, caressing her hip, reaching toward her groin. She twitched a shoulder, but was unable to move more than that. A flashlight shone directly in her eyes, temporarily blinding what little she could see. She thought she recognized a face.  
  
_Vaf_ _anculo, you son of a bitch! She’s awake!_  
  
A sharp pain against her temple, and she was out again.  
  
****************************************  
  
It had been six hours. DeMedici Law security was aggressively following leads, bashing heads, crashing homes and flats at a rate that was beginning to grate on the Inspector Kerry Vincent's nerves. Her team had been following them around like junior detectives for the last couple of hours, always fifteen to twenty minutes behind. They could find no discernible pattern to the way DeMedici security was moving, and didn’t have sophisticated enough equipment to hack into their systems. Although Leon, the Tactical Response Intelligence Officer, was working diligently to change that.  
  
“Michael,” she said from between gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me where you’re getting your information, and have your people stand down. Now!”  
  
They were at Melbourne Tactical Response Team Headquarters.  Michael diMedici was standing next to Inspector Kerry Vincent in the control room, watching the multiple screens Leon was working. The visuals were a mix of live video from the bodycams worn by the TRT and internet searches; as well as CCTV feeds.  
  
“You can’t legally follow the leads I have, Kerry. When we find her, I’ll let you pick her up. But until then, it’s faster this way,” Michael stated, calmly. She looked over at Erica, who was standing next to her, staring at the screens wildly. She was now visibly shaking.  
  
Michael put an arm around her, thinking Franky would want her comforted. Erica slapped her away. She left the room.  
  
“You should go after her,” Kerry said.  
  
“I need to stay with my guys. Until we find Franky.”  
  
Kerry shouted at her. “What you need to do is tell me what you know! Get your Scooby Doo crew out of my way and let us do our jobs! Stop worrying about what’s legal before you get your friend killed.” She waited a few seconds, then went after Erica.  
  
She found the blond woman in the locker room. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, sobbing silently into her hands. Kerry sat next to her. She didn’t have time for this. But she wasn’t made of ice. Like deMedici.  
  
“Listen to me,” she said quietly. Erica flinched. Kerry had startled her. “We are going to find your partner. From what I understand about Franky Doyle, she’s made of pretty tough stuff.”  
  
Kerry handed Erica some tissue. Erica thanked her and tried to calm down.  
  
“But time is an issue. The more time passes, the harder this is going to get.”  
  
Erica nodded.  
  
“How well do you know Michael deMedici?” Kerry asked her.  
  
“I’ve been opposing counsel a number of times. She’s Franky’s boss. That’s about it.”  
  
“Do you know if she and Franky are… close?” Kerry tried to be diplomatic.  
  
“Absolutely not! Franky and I are together.” Erica was angry now.  
  
Angry, Kerry could work with. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m just trying to get Michael to open up and let us in. We have resources that neither she nor her team has. And she doesn’t think like a cop. I know several of the guys on her team and they’re smart. But not as smart as my people.”  
  
Erica glared at her.  
  
“If you can talk to her,” Kerry continued, “appeal to her… her feelings… for Franky, she might open up and let us find your partner for you.” She watched Erica process this. _You are a smart girl. I bet you know how to break the Ice Queen. Come on. Help me save your girlfriend. Quickly. Come on._  
  
She stood up and held her hand out to Erica. Erica took it and followed Kerry back to the control room. Inspector Vincent held her breath as Erica Davidson stood in the doorway for several moments watching Michael deMedici on her cell phone, ostensibly talking to her security team. Then Kerry watched a transformation she wished she had been able to catch on film.  
  
Erica Davidson was undoubtedly a beautiful woman. Very soft, feminine. Even a little blurry around the edges, if that made any sense. Visibly upset, crying Erica Davidson even sparked a protective instinct in Kerry. But that Erica seemed to melt away before her eyes. This person was hard, her eyes blue steel, not blue sky.  Her face angular and angry.  
  
Kerry watched, fascinated as Erica approached Michael deMedici. She inched around the two and bumped Leon with her hip. _Watch this_ she mouthed. Leon spun around in his chair.  
  
Erica snatched Michael’s phone from her ear. Michael caught her wrist just as Erica was about to dash it on the floor. She was unintimidated.  
  
“You listen to me. This is all your fault. You and your _fucking family_. You need to tell Inspector Vincent whatever it is she needs to know to bring Franky home. Now.”  
  
Michael stared at her, incredulous. “I am the only one who knows how to get her back.” She looked back at the screens, extracted her mobile from Erica,  effectively dismissing her.  
  
“If you did, she would be here by now,” Erica sneered. “If anything. Else. Happens to her because of your fucking ego, I will shoot you myself.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa,” Kerry called, approaching the two.  
  
“She is done with you,” Erica continued, poking Michael in the chest, undeterred. “When TR finds her and brings her home, she will never, ever see you again. Do you understand? We are finished with you. If you can tell Kerry where to find her. Now. There may be an opening for… something… down the road. But that window is closing. Quickly.”  
  
Michael looked at Erica again, her expression blank. Kerry could practically hear the gears turning, weighing options. If she had any feelings at all for Franky Doyle, she would break here.  
  
It seemed an hour but was really only about 30 seconds before Michael turned to Kerry. “I think Alessandro Ricci took her. But he’ll have moved her by now.” She turned back to Erica. Didn’t at all see it coming. Erica came from way down south with a backhand so hard, landed it so squarely on Michael’s jaw, that Michael fell back several steps, her head ringing.  
  
Leon whistled.  
  
“Leon,” Kerry started.  
  
“On it,” he said. He was.  
  
“Lawson.” Lawson Blake was Senior Sargent and head of the six-person team. They were in ongoing contact by radio between the control room and mics on each of the tactical response officers.  
  
“Yes, Kerry.”  
  
“Go to the address Leon’s texting. It’s Alessandro Ricci. He may have taken Franky Doyle. She’s not likely to still be on the premises, but search the place anyway. See what you can find out.”  
  
“Seven minutes out.”  
  
Kerry watched her team snap into action. Within half an hour, they had secured the Ricci house and discovered that he owned eight vehicles, only one of which couldn’t be accounted for. Then Leon found all of Ricci’s associated henchmen, disreputable figures allegedly not on the Ricci payroll, and found their mobile numbers. The deMedici team had already physically located seven of nine of them. Number eight answered his cell, which GPS showed to be in Fiji. Number nine was on the other side of town. Leon was able to find the nondescript white van on GPS and CCTV in an abandoned carpark.  
  
Erica, Michael and Kerry were actually able to watch the man lift a limp, lifeless form wrapped in a blanket from the back of the van, place it gently on the ground. And they also saw the two TR vehicles arrive at the scene just as the man attempted to get back into his van.  
  
“Police! Get down on the ground!”  
  
The scene was secured in a matter of minutes. Someone was standing over the blanket, pulling at it, to reveal Franky — they could see her face on one of the monitors. She was pale.  
  
“Someone call an ambo!” A woman’s voice. “She’s got a pulse, but it’s not strong.” The woman lightly slapped Franky’s face. “Come on Franky. Can you hear me? Franky? Franky Doyle. My name is Shannon. Open your eyes.” She patted her face again.  
  
You could hear a pin drop in the control room. No one was even breathing.  
  
Green eyes flitted open on the screen. Leon cheered. Erica sobbed. Kerry smiled. Michael backed out of the room, then turned to run down the hall toward the commode.  
  
“Hey there, Franky. Can you see me? Look at me.” Franky’s eyes tracked above the camera to the officer’s face. “Good girl. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to take you to hospital. Okay?”  
  
Franky coughed and blinked.  
  
“I need an officer to take Miss Davidson to hospital, to her partner! And someone find deMedici and bring her back here. Stat!” Kerry yelled.  
  
She found herself embraced by Erica. She hugged her back. “You made this happen.” Less than an hour and a half had passed since she had sat with Erica on the floor in the locker room. “Franky’s lucky to have such a fierce girlfriend.”  
  
“Thank you,” Erica said. “For everything.”  
  
“Get outta here.” Kerry smiled at her.  
  
Several minutes later, Michael deMedici re-entered the control room, followed by one of her officers.  
  
“Vomitus interruptus,” he whispered.  
  
“I’m going to go,” Michael said.  
  
Kerry smirked. “Ah, no you’re not. I have a number of charges for you, Miss deMedici. Starting with obstruction.”


	14. As Sure as We Live

Franky woke to bright daylight. She looked around. She was in hospital. Everything hurt. In fact, she couldn’t identify one single place on her body that wasn’t screaming in pain. Except maybe her chin.  
  
She closed her eyes again, feeling the tears come. She couldn’t stop it. Still in fucking Wentworth. Jumped again. Fuck. FUCKFUCKFUCK. For a brief moment when she’d opened her eyes, she had the sensation that she was free. That she had somehow been granted parole and should be waking up in a bed somewhere far from the prison. Stupid. She couldn’t quite remember who had jumped her. Was it the Asian girls? Hadn’t she settled up with them about the gear?  
  
“Hey. Franky. Honey? Are you awake?”   
  
She felt fingers against her face, others holding her hand. She opened her eyes. Why was the Governor standing over her, looking all teary?  
  
“Why are you here?” She croaked out. Her throat felt like sandpaper.  
  
Miss Davidson leaned over and kissed her, gently, on the lips. “You have a concussion and broken ribs. And you had a high dose of heroin in you. But the doctors say you’ll be just fine. With a little care. From me.” She smiled.  
  
Wait. What? “Kiss me again,” she rasped out. Erica smiled that shy smile that got Franky going. Then leaned over and kissed her again. Franky threaded her free hand in Erica’s silky hair, pulling her in closer, their lips together more firmly. Her arm was on fire but she didn’t care. Miss Davidson smelled heavenly. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting the Governor in. Erica’s tongue teased hers, briefly, then she tried to pull away. Franky didn’t let her, prolonging the contact until Erica wrenched herself back.  
  
She was grinning. “Jesus, Franky. You need to rest. And you’re parched. Let me get you some water.”  
  
Franky didn’t understand what the fuck alternate reality universe she had awakened in, or if she had fallen down the rabbit hole, or if she was dead. _I am absolutely dead. Because Erica Davidson kissing me on her own is heaven._  
  
Miss Davidson pulled a plastic cup with a straw from the bedside table and put the straw against Franky’s lips. She drank a bit. Then a bit more. She was very thirsty. But she was enjoying Miss Davidson sitting on the bed holding a cup for her more than the actual drink.  
  
When she felt sufficiently hydrated inside her mouth, she gestured to Erica to put the cup away. Erica held one of Franky’s hands in both of hers and kissed her fingers.   
  
“How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain?”  
  
Franky pulled Erica in closer, then leaned up to kiss her again. Her ribs screamed, taking her breath away. She fell back against the pillows.  
  
Erica pursed her mouth into a moue. “What don’t you understand about rest?” She leaned over and kissed Franky again, this time lingering, opening up and letting Franky explore her fully, giving as good as she got, before finally pulling back with a sigh.  
  
Franky licked her lips. _Yep. Totally dead._ Her eyes got heavy suddenly. _No! No! I want to stay here!_ She felt Erica’s fingers on her face. It hurt. Wait. _If I'm dead, it wouldn’t hurt would it?_ “Don’t leave me.”  
  
“Never, Love. I’m right here.”  
  
Franky was asleep again.  
  
********************************  
  
When Franky awoke the second time, her entire right side was on fire. And she was pinned to the bed. She took short breaths, trying to manage the searing pain down the length her body. Wasn’t she in hospital? Where were the fucking meds?  
  
She turned her head to look for a call button and bumped her chin, the only place on her body that didn’t hurt, against a blonde head. She stopped breathing altogether. Erica Davidson was plastered to her side, sound asleep, drooling on the front of Franky’s gown.  
  
She pulled her left arm across to touch Erica’s hair. That arm cried bloody murder, but she didn’t care.  
  
Erica stirred, and then startled awake. Franky groaned. Erica jumped up from the bed. Franky groaned louder, clenching her teeth. Erica began frantically pressing a button, which miraculously, seemed to alleviate Franky’s pain. Slowly but surely, she felt the sweet euphoria of morphine take over as the pain ebbed, then dulled to a bearable level. Erica placed the wand with a button on the end next to Franky’s right hand and sat in a chair. Franky stared at her, now floating in narcotic heaven.  
  
“Hey,” Erica said.  
  
“Hey yourself,” Franky answered.  
  
“I’m sorry I was in bed with you. You were so fidgety and talking in your sleep. Not in a good way. You settled down when I laid next to you.” She gave Franky the cup and straw.  
  
“Don’t ever, ever apologize for getting in bed with me, Miss Davidson,” Franky grinned sloppily, sipping the water.  
  
“The button releases pain meds. You can use it once every half hour. I think you can press it three or four times, then no more medicine is released until the half hour is up.”  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
Erica held her hand. Kissed it. “Do you remember anything about your dreams? About waking up yesterday?”  
  
“Not so much.”  
  
“You seemed to think you were still at Wentworth.”  
  
Franky closed her eyes. It came back to her. “Right. Reckoned I’d been jumped by the the girls. But then Governor Davidson was at my bedside. Kissing me.” She looked over at Erica. “And it felt like heaven, so I must be dead.”  
  
Erica smiled. Then frowned. “Do you still think you’re in prison?”  
  
Franky smiled. “Nope. Law school. Barrister. I’m fine, Erica.” She was adjusting to the woozy state.  
  
“Do you know what day it is?”  
  
Franky’s brow wrinkled in effort, then she smiled. “Actually, no. What day is it?”  
  
“Do you remember anything about the last couple of days?”  
  
She thought for a couple of minutes, then her face dropped. “Oi. Fucking nasty bit of business.” She closed her eyes. Her jaw quivered.  She was breathing hard. “Was I… “ She cleared her throat and tried again. “Did they… “ She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. One tear escaped. “Fuck. Everything hurts. What’s happened to me?”   
  
“Rape kit was negative.” Erica took a deep breath, leaned over and kissed Franky’s forehead. “No trauma down there. But you were beaten. You have a concussion, three broken ribs and you were drugged.”  
  
Franky’s face crumpled. She opened her eyes, which brimmed with unshed tears. “When can I get the fuck out of here? I want to go home. Take me home, Erica.”  
  
Erica pressed the call button, summoning the doctor. “As soon as I can, Honey,” she said, trying not to cry herself.  
  
The next few hours were a flurry of activity. The doctor said that there was no reason Franky couldn’t go home. She had no injuries that couldn’t be mended with rest and quiet. She should plan to be out for at least two weeks, but that was only because she was already in excellent physical shape. Mere mortals would have been down nearly a month with these types of injuries.  
  
The police were also waiting outside the room and insisted on questioning her before she was released. After an hour, Franky was again exhausted. The doctor booted the police and told them Franky would answer the rest of their questions at the station when she was a bit more recovered. On her own time. Franky chimed in that she’d be apt to get back to them more quickly if that gorgeous redhead, was her name Shannon? was doing the questioning.   
  
Erica glared at her. How could Franky be completely vulnerable and infuriating at the same time? Erica took her girlfriend and her pain meds home.  
  
****************************  
  
Two days later they were having dinner at Erica’s flat, where Franky was recuperating. She had been getting around rather well, sleeping a lot and mending quickly, and in fact had prepared the meal for them tonight. She mentioned that she hadn’t heard from Michael.  
  
Erica bristled. “You better not. We are through with the deMedici’s, Franky. I don’t want you going back there. And I told her not to contact you.”  
  
“What?” Franky was genuinely puzzled. “That’s my job. Why wouldn’t I go back to it. Was I sacked?”  
  
“Franky Doyle!  You are not going anywhere near them. Ever again. That animal, who was probably going to kill you, was a friend of the family! Michael put you right under his nose!”  
  
“Whoa. Slow it down a minute. She didn’t do that. What are you talking about?”  
  
“It’s been in the papers all  week.” Erica explained to Franky that Alessandro Ricci had been arrested on suspicion of at least twelve murders of young women who fit Franky’s profile — mid to late twenties, thin, athletic build; olive-skinned, brown hair. Pretty. They had found body parts and full skeletal remains of eight victims scattered about his own property. He preyed on single women with no families. Women who no one would ask after if they went missing.  
  
But he’d overreached, to say the least, with Franky Doyle.  
  
Franky considered what Erica was saying. It was a sordid tale. But she didn’t believe Michael was actually involved in any way.  
  
“I think… “ she paused. “Do we have the papers from the week? I’d like to read up on it.”  
  
“Sure. I’ll put them all by the bed. Don’t read that stuff when you’re alone, Franky. It’s pretty horrifying.”  
  
“I don’t remember much after those guys snatched me off the street. I never even saw them coming until I was in the van.” She stopped for a moment, trying to conjure up other details. “Until I woke up in hospital.” She wanted to know what had actually happened to her. To Erica while she was missing. “So how did you know I was actually gone? And when?”  
  
“Michael called shortly after you’d left. She said she needed to talk to you ASAP. It was barely half past five in the morning and she’d never called me before. It made me nervous.” Erica cleared her throat, then continued. “So I called your mobile. It went to voicemail. Then I called the loft after I thought you should have arrived. No answer there either. By about seven, I was panicking and called Michael back.” Erica stopped talking and looked down at her plate.   
  
“She told me she had some information that led her to believe that you might be in danger.” She looked at Franky. “That she was sending a car around because we shouldn’t talk it through over the phone.”  
  
“Jesus,” Franky said. She was beginning to have an understanding of what Erica went through. “Then what happened?”  
  
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”  
  
“Erica. Yes. I’m sorry you had to go through this. But I need to understand it.” They hadn’t talked at all about what had happened yet.   
  
Erica took a deep breath, trying to stay composed. But when she spoke, it was a burst of intense emotion. “It was the worst FUCKING day ever, Franky. And not because I was in a police station half the day. It’s because you were kidnapped! By a serial killer! That is a friend of your boss’s — ex-boss’s — family! She’s so goddam arrogant — she almost got you killed!” Erica choked back a sob. “You could have been…” She was trying to hold it together.  
  
When she had first seen Franky in the hospital bed, unconscious and unresponsive, she had collapsed into hysterical sobs, so much so that she had to be sedated. But she had got it out, had her moment to be in the abject fear and desolation of the prospect of losing the best thing, the only thing that mattered in her life. She was now trying very hard not to go back there. Franky didn’t need to see that right now. Maybe never. Franky was still processing her own feelings about what had happened and Erica was very clear she wanted to be there for Franky, not have Franky trying to take care of her.  
  
“Hey,” Franky said softly. “Let’s grab a bottle of wine and go to the lounge, snuggle up together. And talk about this. It’s been bloody hell for us both.”  
  
They reclined together, Franky cradled in Erica’s arms this time, Franky’s back pressed against Erica’s chest, as Erica recounted the time at TR headquarters. How amazing the team was, especially Kerry Vincent. What a prime arsehole deMedici was. How she’d wasted hours with her security team, running about town smashing heads. The TR team had found Franky in a couple of hours.  
  
“But because of information that deMedici had,” Franky said.  
  
“Yes,” Erica conceded that. “But only because she’s the one who put you in that position in the first place, Franky. You have to see that.”  
  
Franky shook her head. “I know you think that, and I understand why you think that. But you’re wrong. Michael would never knowingly put anyone in harm’s way. She’s not naive about her family business, but she’s not exactly the devious, manipulative criminal mind she’s made out to be.”  
  
Erica wasn’t having it. “They’re all monsters. I could have lost you.” She wrapped both arms around Franky, pressing her face into her neck. “I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore.” And she had a good cry, anyway, holding her lover in her arms.  
  
Franky let her own tears fall. She couldn’t remember much of what had happened to her. But she knew exactly how she felt about not having Erica in her life. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Even their stupid fight about Bridget had torn her apart. If something happened to Erica… If she was in danger…  
  
“God, Erica,” she said softly, feeling the back of her shirt wet with Erica’s tears. “There’s so many things we haven’t had time to even talk about. Marriage. Kids.”  
  
Erica stopped crying. She almost stopped breathing.  
  
“I want to spend my life with you. Grow old together.”  
  
Erica went from desolation to euphoric in a microsecond. She kissed the ear next to her lips. “Is that a proposal, Franky Doyle?”  
  
Franky could feel the smile pressed against her skin. “No,” she said, turning her head so she could see Erica’s face. She was serious, a little sad. “Not while you’re still married to Mark.” She turned away, pressing Erica’s hand against her lips. “I haven’t noticed you rushing the paperwork.”  
  
 _That was absolutely a proposal_ , Erica thought as she nuzzled Franky’s neck. _And if there is any silver lining to any of this mess, Franky thinking about marriage would be it._ “Well I guess I’d better get unmarried, then.” She put two fingers under Franky’s chin, guiding her face back so they could see each other. She lost herself in Franky’s eyes for a moment, then kissed her. It deepened, as Franky kissed her back possessively. She could feel her pulse racing.  
  
“Let’s go to bed,” Franky said, breathing rapidly.  
  
Erica grinned. “You are in no condition for sex, Franky.”  
  
Franky eased herself off the lounge, wincing. “You’re probably right. But we could still get naked?”  
  
“Maybe not that, either. You have no impulse control and I’m undersexed. I think we should wear clothing to bed.”   
  
Several hours later, Erica awoke to Franky fidgeting next to her. Then twitching.  
  
“Franky?” She called softly. Franky was clearly still fast asleep. Erica leaned up on one elbow so she could see better. Franky’s brow was twisted, tormented. Then her hands and arms went up, as if to deflect a blow or push something away. “Franky!” She called, worried now. She put her hand on Franky’s shoulder to shake her.  
  
Franky sprang off the bed like a startled cat, backing away, still flailing her arms.   
  
“FRANKY!”  
  
Erica turned on the bedside light. Franky stood on the other side of the room. Her eyes were wide open now and she was nearly hyperventilating. She looked around wildly, finally settling on Erica. Then closed her eyes and bent over.   
  
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”  
  
“What happened? What is it?”  
  
“Oh god, Erica!” Franky began walking in circles, her head in her hands, clearly still very agitated. “Fuck! I remember what happened.” She emitted a harsh sob, bent over at the waist, then straightened and began walking in circles again. “FUUUUCK!”  
  
Erica approached her slowly. “Franky, can you talk to me?”  
  
Franky slowed her circling and tried to focus on Erica. But was recaptured by the images from her nightmare and began to pace quickly again. “Fuck!”  
  
“Franky,” Erica said quietly, trying to soothe her. She put a hand out and touched Franky’s arm. Franky sprang back as if she’d been burned.  
  
“Fuuuuuuck!” Franky stripped out off her shorts and tank as if they were on fire. “God, Erica. There were two of them. They were touching me. Everywhere.” She continued to pace. “Fuck! It was disgusting!” She sat down on the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth. “That Ricci bastard! Fuck!”  
  
Erica was heartbroken. She crouched down in front of Franky, across from her, careful not to touch. “Franky? Look at me.”  
  
Franky’s head snapped up. She finally startled out of her dark reverie. She took a deep breath and gave Erica a teary smile. “Erica. Jesus. I must be completely freaking you out.” She chuckled.  
  
“A little,” Erica admitted. “What can I do?”  
  
Franky reached out her hand and Erica held it, kissed her fingers.  
  
“More of that,” Franky said, focusing on slowing her breathing. Erica kissed up her arm. “Yeah, like that.” Erica moved closer, kissing across Franky’s shoulders to the other arm, then down to those fingers. She leaned back into Erica’s embrace as she continued to receive soft kisses on her face, neck and shoulders.  
  
Franky stood up and Erica stood up with her. She moved into Erica’s arms, a full body embrace, and exhaled deeply. “Fuck,” she said. “I just… it was so real. And I think there was some prison stuff mixed up in it. But this feels good.” She held onto Erica. “This is okay. This is right.”   
  
Erica stroked all of Franky’s skin she could reach. “You’re safe here, Baby. I have you.”  
  
“Take this off,” Franky said, pulling at her neglige. Erica quickly obliged.  
  
“Ohhhh yeah,” Franky exhaled again as their bodies pressed together, holding each other tightly. Skin on skin. They stayed like that for a few minutes.   
  
“Okay. Back to bed?” Erica asked.  
  
“Yeah.” They scooted in together, side by side. She was still wary of causing Franky pain. Erica switched off the light.  
  
Franky took several deep breaths. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. It just…”  
  
“Franky. This isn’t exactly unexpected. Just keep talking to me. You’re going to be fine.” They lay there for several more minutes, holding hands, fingers interlaced. Erica could still feel Franky’s high, frenetic energy. She thought a little distraction might be in order. Gently, she pushed herself over enough to kiss Franky without disturbing her cracked ribs.  
  
At first Franky seemed surprised, but quickly settled into kissing Erica back. She slid one hand down as she shifted a bit further underneath Erica, grabbing her bum. Erica whimpered into Franky’s mouth, diving deeper, becoming lost in the heady sensation of their skin together. It had been several days but felt like weeks since they’d been intimate.  
  
Franky shifted a bit further until Erica was nearly on top of her. Franky’s other hand came up to Erica’s arse, as she lifted her thigh between Erica’s legs, pushing up to add pressure against her sex. Then she winced.   
  
Erica stopped immediately, and tried to extract herself from Franky’s arms. She arched an eyebrow in the semi-dark, chucking softly. “Very sneaky. But no dice.”  
  
Franky took a deep breath and rolled them over. It hurt, but not enough to deter her from her goal. She kissed Erica again, hungrily.  
  
Erica was losing this battle. She didn’t want Franky to be in pain, but she wanted this desperately. “Franky,” she gasped between kisses. “Please don’t do anything that hurts you.”  
  
“I need this. I need to feel you, Erica,” Franky husked. “Don’t fight me. I just need you.”  
  
Erica was more than happy to submit. She anchored her hands in Franky’s hair, not wanting to touch any other part of her that may cause her pain, distract her lover. Franky didn’t waste any time reaching down, teasing Erica’s clit, sliding two fingers in deep. They both moaned. Then Franky collapsed on top of her.  
  
“Fuck. I can’t. Too soon.” She laughed harshly, then groaned, pulling her hand out of her lover. “Fuck it hurts.”  
  
Erica took a deep breath, suppressing a howl of frustration. She shivered, then exhaled loudly. “We have all the time in the world, Franky. Just rest.”   
  
Without another word, Franky quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
**************************  
  
The next morning, when the alarm went off signaling Erica to prepare to go to work, she shut it off and continued to lay there, not moving. Franky was still on top of her, sleeping deeply.   
  
Erica was able to reach her cell phone, barely. Franky twitched against her, holding on more tightly as if she sensed Erica trying to leave the bed. There was no way Erica was leaving, with everything that had happened over night. She emailed her peers at the state public defenders office, and Car, and let them know she’d need to work from home for the day, and went back to sleep with Franky in her arms.  
  
She woke again and it was full daylight. She looked at the clock. Nine! When was the last time she’d slept that late? Franky was still sprawled on top of her, sleeping like a baby. She smiled and kissed the top of her head. She needed to get up, though. Nature called. As she gently moved from beneath her lover, one sleepy, confused green eye opened.  
  
“Gotta pee.” She kissed her nose.  
  
They eye closed. “Will you work late tonight?”  
  
“No work today.”  
  
The eye opened again. “Why not?”  
  
“We can talk about it later. When you wake up. Go back to sleep, Franky.”  
  
They eye closed.  
  
*************************  
  
It was late in the afternoon and Franky was in the kitchen with a stack of newspapers. She’d awakened around 1:00pm feeling quite refreshed and her pain greatly diminished. It was soreness now, rather than stabbing pain. They’d scraped together a few things from the fridge for a late lunch, and talked a little about Franky’s nightmare. They both agreed it would be a good idea for Franky to see if she could get some sessions with Bridget Westfall. Then Franky sent Erica off to the market with a fairly comprehensive grocery list.  
  
Now she was reading through the coverage of her kidnapping and release. The headlines were awful: deMedici Death Trap! deMedici Barrister Beaten! deMedici Breach! The press seemed to be having a field day raking the family, particularly Michael’s father, over the coals for associating and working with an alleged serial killer. Much time was spent trying to discern what Gianni DeMedici knew about Ricci, and when. Michael wasn’t treated very well either.   
  
Franky was described as “the kidnap and assault victim, Francesca ‘Franky’ Doyle.” And there were some torrid details of the grisly murder and dismemberment of several young women prior to Franky’s kidnapping. At least twelve. Probably more. Franky’s mind flashed on the image of she and Michael sitting in that monster's home several days ago, then his face above her as she lay naked and bound at his mercy. She shuddered and put that story aside, turning back to the coverage of the deMedicis.  
  
Most of the coverage was focused on the deMedici dynasty, its history of associations with dubious clients, and the patriarch, Gianni. Michael was under house arrest for obstruction. Inspector Vincent — who photographed quite well, Franky had to say — was clear that Michael deMedici contributed significantly to identifying the pattern of serial killings and finding the alleged perpetrator. She credited Michael’s work behind the scenes, and stated that the victim would have been unlikely to have survived without those interventions. But Michael deMedici still broke the law and would be held accountable. Franky sighed. _Michael could be disbarred. For saving my life._  
  
Erica returned with the groceries and Franky helped her put things away in the kitchen.  
  
“I’d like to talk to her,” Franky said.  
  
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Erica responded, trying not to sound irritated.  
  
“I know, Love. But it’s important to me. She’s my mate.”  
  
“I don’t know why you don’t think you have any other mates than the daughter of one of the most dangerous families in the state,” Erica frowned at her, handing her a carton of passionfruit juice. “People line up for blocks wanting to get close to you. Why can’t you find someone a little less lethal to your health? To mine, for that matter?”  
  
Franky chuckled. She’d said something similar to Michael not so long ago. It had earned her a smack and a bloodied lip.  
  
“It’s not funny!”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry. But I want to talk to her.”  
  
Erica grumbled. “Several conditions.”  
  
“Anything for you.”  
  
One eyebrow went up. “Do you mean it? Because I can come up with some good ones.”  
  
Franky took a deep breath. “Well, let’s talk them through. I might have some stipulations of my own. What do you want, Erica?”  
  
 _I want to marry you._ “I want you to move out of the loft immediately. You don’t have to move in here with me — I’d understand if you want your own place.”  
  
“Do you want me to move in here with you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Done.”  
  
Erica’s breath caught. She didn’t think it would be that easy. “Ok. Um. I’ll have your things packed and brought here.” She’d moved Mark out months ago.   
  
“We might want to pack some of it ourselves.”  
  
Erica blushed a bright red. “Obviously. “ She cleared her throat. “And you aren’t going back to deMedici Law.”  
  
“Makes sense. Gianni deMedici is a monster. Being near his business almost got me killed. Don’t need a repeat on that.”  
  
Two for two. Erica was on a roll. She continued. “And when you talk to her — at least until this news hits the back pages — you do it here. And only when I’m home. With you. And her. No public appearances.”  
  
“Ok. What else?”  
  
“What else? I thought this would be like pulling teeth with you.” She put her arms around Franky and kissed her.  
  
Franky squeezed her back. “Happy now?”  
  
“Yes. Now what are your stipulations?”  
  
Franky kissed her. “Forget about it.” She kissed Erica again, moving down her neck and pulling her blouse from the slacks, sliding her hands across smooth, warm skin.  
  
“You aren’t even trying to pretend to deflect anymore,” Erica laughed softly. “Seriously,” she pulled back so she could see Franky’s eyes. “What is it?”  
  
“Nothing. Just forget it.” Franky avoided her gaze, turned nonchalantly, began putting groceries away again.  
  
 _Interesting_ , Erica thought. _When is Franky Doyle hedge to say what it is that she wants?_  
  
 _When she’s afraid of getting hurt. And she’s raw right now. What could possibly be between us that… Oh!_  
  
Erica went to the bench where several days of mail had collected. She’d only briefly looked through it, discarding circulars since Franky went missing. But she knew of one particular important document in the stack.   
  
Franky was humming something lovely. Erica found the envelope from her own attorney and ripped it open. She scanned the papers, finding what she expected to find there, then approached Franky.   
  
“Baby, can I show you something?”  
  
“Sure,” Franky turned to her after putting some lettuce in the crisper. Erica handed her the papers.  
  
“I thought you might be interested to know that my divorce is final. Papers came the day you went missing. I kind of forgot about them with everything happening.  
  
Franky stared at her as if she didn’t understand the English language.   
  
Erica chuckled. “Just read it, Franky. Make sure all the ‘i’s’ are dotted and the ’t’s’ are crossed, will you?”  
  
Franky did. She’d never seen divorce papers before. And she wanted to be precisely clear exactly what Erica was free to do and not do, relative to Vanilla Mark. Erica waited patiently. When Franky finished reading and looked up, her eyes were glossy with soon-to-be-shed tears. She started to laugh.  
  
Erica took the papers from her and flung her arms around Franky’s neck. Franky started to lift her up.  
  
“Ribs!” Erica said.   
  
Franky settled for spinning them both around, with all feet on the ground. She wasn’t feeling any pain at all. She was still laughing.   
  
Erica kissed her. Again. And again. Until Franky stopped laughing and was completely consumed by the kissing.  
  
“For the record,” Erica said between kisses. “When you ask me to marry you, I’m going to say yes.”  
  
Franky pulled Erica down to the kitchen floor, unbuttoning her blouse. “Marry me,” she said.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
**********************  
  
The next day Franky was due at the police station to finish her statement. She was sullen, ready to put the whole ugly thing behind her, but she knew it wasn’t over by any stretch of the imagination. All those other women had been killed. Ricci was in jail, but she was the only living — that she knew of — victim. The key witness for the prosecution. So it was important to make sure she related all details of the crime. She hadn’t even told the police yet that she’d seen Ricci during the kidnapping. That ought to make the state prosecutor shit gold bricks.   
  
Erica picked her up from the flat to take her downtown. It was just smart to make the statement with her attorney present. But if truth be told, she was feeling a little shaky and wanted Erica there with her as her partner. The visceral memory of what had happened that day was getting mixed up with weird, awful things from Wentworth, things she thought had left behind. She resolved to call Bridget as soon as this interview was over.  
  
As predicted, the entire police station went crazy when Franky told them she remembered actually seeing Ricci during the kidnapping. Yes, she was positive it was him as she’d been in a meeting with him less than twelve hours before that. Michael deMedici was there too. Both she and Michael would be witnesses for the prosecution. How would the deMedici family deal with Michael testifying against one of their own clients. Franky sighed. It was going to be a long process.  
  
Then they’d asked her to look at photos of a number of women who had been murdered with the same m.o. as was being ascribed to Ricci, which had evolved slightly, expanded: twenty-somethings women, dark hair, fairly isolated. Particularly women who were alienated from their families and didn’t have many friends. Women who few-to-no people had reported missing. They were dismembered and buried — many in Ricci’s own yard. But others had turned up at the abandoned carpark where they’d tried to dump Franky.  
  
There were about one hundred photos to get through. Franky started at the top and scanned each row. Five across, four down on each page. Five pages of photos. Erica sat next to her, rubbing her back. It was Erica who first pointed to a woman’s face half way down the first page.  
  
“Isn’t that Katie? Katie Green? She was in the first class that I organized at Wentworth, but dropped out. She was a bit surly,” she said. “There’s that mole above her eyebrow.”  
  
Franky agreed, and put a post-it on the photo to mark it. “You’re right. She was paroled a few months after the Freak came in.” They continued down the page and at the bottom Franky recognized another face from Wentworth. This girl had been in her unit, but also got out shortly after Ferguson had arrived. Franky flipped to the next page. Another familiar face. Then she flipped to the fourth page, and felt a chill. Five out of the first fifteen on that page were faces she recognized from prison. The sixteenth was Jodi Spiteri.  
  
Franky barely made it to the bin. Everything she’d eaten that day came up. Then dry heaves. Erica was beside her instantly.  
  
“What happened? Who is that?”  
  
“Jodi Spiteri.” Franky crossed her arms over her head and looked at the ceiling. She was tired of crying. But this hurt. Jodi didn’t deserve this.   
  
“You knew her?”  
  
“Very well. After Kim got out, Jodi came in. She was sweet.”  
  
Erica, surprising herself, didn’t react to the news of another of Franky’s lovers. Seeing that the girl had likely been murdered, Erica mustered real empathy. “Oh Franky.” Franky leaned her head against Erica’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” She put her arm around her girlfriend and kissed her head.  
  
Franky took a deep breath and stood, pulling Erica up with her. “I need to get through the rest of the photos. There’s something not right here.”  
  
Erica left the room and returned shortly with a cold bottle of water. Franky took a swig, swishing the sour taste from her mouth as she continued to look through the photos. She identified another four women on the last page who were at Wentworth. And she immediately knew what they all had in common. They were all women who had actively, vocally, visibly sided with her and Bea when they took on the Freak.  
  
She needed to talk to Bridget.


	15. You Can Bet

Two days later, Erica was working late. Franky was getting a bit stir crazy, having now spent six consecutive days inside Erica’s flat, recuperating, The ribs were a bitch. Until a couple of days ago, she could barely move without sharp pain robbing her of the ability to breathe. But now most of her bruises were moving closer to a dull ache, although the ribs were still iffy. She hadn’t been up to full on sex with Erica. And it was driving both of them nuts.  
  
She needed to do something. She had already made an appointment to see Bridget later in the week. She thought about sending a letter to Bea asking for a visit so she could talk through what might be behind so many former Wentworth inmates falling victim to a single serial killer. Bea would likely have some very interesting, diabolical insights. What Franky did figure out is that while she technically fit the profile, she was very different from the other women, most markedly in that she was not at all isolated. The attack on her had not fit the profile. Hell, she had been in the news as a hostage barely two months prior. Half the city would have noticed her missing. Could it have been personal? And was it finished? She had no connection to Ricci, aside from the deMedici work.  What was really going on here?   
  
Franky stood up and went out to the lanai to watch the waves crash on the beach. She was antsy. Hammered by external forces over the past couple of months, her body battered, she knew it was time for a shift.   
  
She needed to get back on top. She called a taxi, and went over to the loft to pack up some of her personal things, and their special drawer of toys. As she entered the space for what was likely the final time, she began to feel nostalgic. She thought about the first time she had been there, with Michael. How new everything had been back then. How hot the sex was between them. And then Erica. Having Erica there that first night had been magical.  
  
 _They had managed not to make a spectacle of themselves in the elevator on the way up to Franky’s South Wharf flat. Good thing, as there were other people in it with them. But when they arrived at the door, Erica had insinuated herself between Franky and her attempts to unlock the door, distracting her for several minutes with heated kisses. When Franky was finally able to fumble open the door, they both stumbled into the flat, Franky barely able to close and lock the door behind them before Erica had pulled her down onto the floor right there._  
  
 _After they had ‘taken the edge off,’ Franky had pulled Erica over toward the lounge, wanting to show her the view. She was rather proud of the fact that she had secured such a swanky flat, and wanted to impress Erica. But Erica couldn’t take her eyes from Franky. And Franky couldn’t be mad about it, once Erica pushed her down onto the lounge, and she realized Miss Davidson was straddling her lap wearing only a skimpy, french lace bra. Her knickers and the rest of her clothing had been discarded on entry. Franky forgot the view entirely._  
  
Franky smiled as a warm flush came over her. She went to the fridge and got a beer, and sat watching the sun go down.  
  
Just as she was about to go upstairs her mobile rang.   
  
“Hey Gorgeous.”  
  
“Where are you? I called the house? Are you right?”  
  
“I’m at the loft…”  
  
“Tell me you didn’t drive, Franky! How much pain medication have you taken today?” Franky was not opposed to having a glass of wine with a hydrocodone to take the edge off the pain. _Plus it was kinda fun._ But she hadn’t even taken any meds today.  
  
“I called a taxi. I was bored. I thought I would pack up a few things.” Erica was getting a bit too bossy.   
  
Erica sighed. “I wish you had let me do it. I really want you to focus on getting back to 100%,” she said. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything. It’s barely been a week, Franky.”  
  
“Come here and help me then.” She said it as a command, not as a question.  
  
“I have a couple more things to finish, then I can get there. Just don’t lift anything, ok?”  
  
“Erica,” Franky said softly. Waiting for her to catch up.   
  
“Franky?” Erica questioned.  
  
“Come here. Now.”  
  
Twenty minutes later, they were both standing in the bedroom, looking up at the grappling hook.   
  
“I’m going to miss that,” Erica said, wistfully.  
  
“We have to take it,” Franky said. “Besides. What am I going to tell Michael? ‘Oi, Erica and I had loads of kinky sex using that hook over the bed. It’s a great perk for your next tenant’? We have to have it taken down.”  
  
Erica suppressed a giggle. But it also didn’t go unnoticed by her that by Franky’s last statement, Michael hadn’t been up in the bedroom in months, at least since the hook went up. “I don’t even want to imagine that conversation. How did you get it up there in the first place?”  
  
“I did it myself. When you weren’t speaking to me — I had some time on my hands. And I was plotting your punishment.” She looked away from the hook and at Erica. “You can be completely maddening, you know that?”  
  
Erica wanted to kiss her. But the way Franky was looking at her made her hesitate. Franky’s gaze was hard, focused. It made her skin tingle. She reached out to touch Franky’s neck, intending to wrap her hand around, move in close for some action. But Franky caught her fingers.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Erica tried not to smile. “What do you want me to do?”  
  
“Take off your clothes,” Franky said, simply, releasing her hand and turning toward their special drawer.    
  
“Franky, are you…”  
  
“No talking for you. Get undressed and into position.”  
  
Erica opened her mouth to protest but shut it immediately, as her sex caught on fire. She began to undress. By the time she was on her knees naked under the hook with both arms extended up, she was trembling with anticipation.  
  
She felt the bed moving behind her. Then Franky’s hands on her wrists, attaching the soft leather cuffs and lifting her up over the hook. Erica was nearly panting. Franky came round into her field of vision. She was still wearing her knickers and bra. The bruises on her ribs stood out a stark purple and blue, but less so than a few days prior. They were yellowish around the edges now, indicating good progress in healing.   
  
Erica looked up into Franky’s eyes with the question, _Are you sure?_ And nearly swooned. Franky’s pupil’s were dilated, her face hard, domineering, as she began surveying Erica’s body as if it were newly discovered land.  
  
“Mmmmmm,” she hummed. “Where to begin?” She had the flogger, one end in each hand as she circled Erica.   
  
Erica tried to follow Franky’s movements, turning her head from side to side as her lover paced. She was desperate for some contact. Whimpering, she tilted her head back, letting her hair swing down — it was long now, Franky liked it that way — almost touching her buttocks, offering up her breasts and torso for Franky’s attention.  
  
Franky Doyle, dominatrix extraordinaire, obliged. She started with slow, almost lazy caresses with the flogger across Erica’s ribs and belly. Franky knew her lover craved the attention to her breasts, but Franky had other ideas for those beauties. She continued, increasing in speed and intensity until both areas were a rosy reddish color, and Erica was moaning.   
  
She put the flogger back in the drawer and removed her next choice device. Then she approached Erica from the back, pulling her chin harshly back, tugging hair with the other hand, and kissing her possessively. Erica pressed her bum wantonly against Franky’s hips, while Franky filled her hands with Erica’s full, firm breasts. She massaged them, then pinched the nipples. Erica squealed. Franky moved round to the front again, and applied nipple clamps. A chain connected them. Franky pulled the slack of it up between Erica’s lips so she could control the tension there herself. Erica grinned lasciviously, giving it a hard tug. Franky almost lost her composure.   
  
She returned to the drawer and strapped on Erica’s favorite dildo, selected another couple of accoutrements, then returned to the bed. She slapped at Erica’s thighs from the back, commanding her to spread her legs. Erica quickly complied. Franky laid down with her head under Erica’s center, putting her mouth even with Erica’s clit. She licked there, then sucked gently, and was rewarded with a loud groan.  
  
Franky pushed two fingers deep inside Erica, and pulled out, while moistening a plug in her mouth.  Erica tried to grind down onto Franky’s fingers but was held aloft by the height of the hook. She growled with frustration as Franky continued to minister to her slowly, gently. Erica needed a more firm touch. Franky was drawing this out on purpose. She moved her free hand up to caress the hot, irritated skin which had been flogged. Erica began to pant.  
  
Franky increased the pressure with her fingers inside, while slowly sliding the plug into Erica’s puckered opening. Just the tip. In. Then out. In. Out.   
  
“Aaaaargh! Fuck, Franky! Just fuck me! Fuck!”   
  
Franky pushed the plug all the way into Erica’s arse, smiled against her clit, then moved away from her completely.  She returned with the paddle and stroked Erica’s bum with her free hand. “I never said you could talk.”  
  
Smack!  
  
“Aaaaah!”  
  
Smack!  
  
“Shit!”  
  
Franky increased the pressure with the paddle, continuing to spank Erica until her arse was glowing, burning bright pink. She tossed the paddle aside, and placed her hands on Erica’s hips, trailing kisses across her shoulders and down her back. Erica let her head fall back against Franky. Her breath was coming in short rasps. She put two fingers against Erica’s slit and began a steady focused rhythm there while she unbuckled her lover from the cuffs.  
  
Franky still marveled at the way Erica responded to her. She had been a little surprised by Erica’s affinity for anal. But pleased. She would do anything Erica wanted to do. She was so incredibly delicious. And she pushed every button Franky wanted pushed. Many she didn’t, but definitely all the right ones. She had never felt so attuned to anyone before.    
  
She laid down on her back, inviting Erica on top. Franky’s ribs weren’t quite up to the level of  athleticism Erica would require to finish tonight. Ericka smiled and licked her lips as she lowered herself down onto Franky. She took several seconds  to settle in to the hilt, then leaned forward to kiss Franky, deeply, hungrily. Then she began a slow grind against Franky’s pelvis, moving just so that she could increase the tempo for herself and heighten pressure on Franky’s clit. _Where the fuck did she learn to do that?_ Franky tried to maintain her focus on pleasuring Erica, but she was getting caught up in the rhythm herself.  
  
They were both getting close. Franky opened her eyes and found Erica staring back at her, wide eyed and wild with pleasure. Franky grabbed Erica’s hips to pull her more firmly down onto the strap-on while she also wrapped her hand around to reach the plug, which she began to maneuver in and out of Erica’s arse.    
  
Erica’s mouth fell open and her eyes blanked, then became hyper focused on Franky’s as she began to orgasm, wide eyed. Franky had never seen anything so incredible in her life. Erica’s entire body vibrated as she climaxed, so much so that Franky could feel it in her center, under the strap-on, sending her over the edge as well. They seemed suspended there in time, until Erica fell forward onto Franky’s chest, the dildo sliding sloppily out of her with a loud, wet, ‘pop!’  
  
Erica giggled. Franky couldn’t help chucking herself. Sex noises, isolated from context, were extremely silly. They lay together for several minutes, catching their breath. Enjoying the afterglow. It had been nearly a week and they had both missed the physicality of their relationship desperately.  
  
Erica shifted over to the left side, where Franky’s ribs were not bruised. She leaned up and kissed her leisurely. “I’m not waiting ten years to marry you,” she said, gazing into Franky’s eyes.  
  
Franky tried to take slow, even breaths. Her ribs were killing her. The orgasm, while sweet, had sent a searing white hot arc of pain down her side.  She continued to focus on her breathing while Erica waited for a response. “Ok,” she said carefully.  
  
Erica watched her for about a minute. Then jumped up. “Jesus, Franky! You’re in pain. Did you bring some meds?”  
  
“Front pocket. Jeans.”  
  
Erica scrambled to the pills, then to the bathroom sink for a glass of water, then back to Franky. Who swallowed both pills and gulped the water chaser.  
  
“God, I’m sorry, Baby!” Erica crooned, stroking Franky’s hair, face, arm, down her hip. “I’m so sorry. We should have waited.”  
  
Franky took a deep breath. “Why don’t we go to Auckland this weekend? Before I have to start job hunting?” Same-sex marriage wasn’t legal in Australia, but was in New Zealand.  
  
Erica lay down in Franky’s arms, waiting for the meds to kick in. When she felt Franky start to relax, she said, “I’ll make some reservations.”  
  
Having Erica next to her was indelibly soothing, Franky had to admit. And despite the pain, having just made love to her partner, naked in bed together finally, Franky felt renewed. With a good night’s sleep, she knew she’d be ready to take on the world. She fell into a deep sleep, barely waking when Erica rustled her the next morning to go back to the St. Kilda flat. Franky slept there until noon.  
  
**************************  
  
That next day was Franky’s appointment with Bridget Westfall. She’d asked Erica to accompany her, as much to allay Erica’s jealous tendencies as to have the support Franky might need after the session.    
  
They sat together in the reception area holding hands. Soon, Bridget emerged from her private office space.   
  
“Franky,” she said warmly, smiling as she approached, holding out her hand for a professional shake.   
  
Franky maintained a high level of affection for Gidget, despite their last encounter. Gidget had been one of very few steady, reliable sources in Franky’s life — during her time at Wentworth, even after being sacked because of Franky, she still continued to look out for her best interests. She had managed to show for Franky’s parole hearing, despite Ferguson’s attempt to undermine that; and she helped them all document the actual malfeasance of the Freak. Even though things hadn’t worked out between them personally, Franky was still quite loyal and cared deeply for Bridget Westfall. Erica was going to have to understand that.  
  
Franky leapt from her seat and engulfed Gidget in a big bear hug. “Hey, Gidge,” she said softly, kissing her on the cheek.   
  
Bridget laughed and pushed Franky away. “Not the appropriate greeting for a counselor and her patient.” She turned to Erica, who stood up, eyeing her warily. “Miss Davidson.”  
  
“Dr. Westfall,” Erica said evenly, shaking her hand.  
  
“I’m afraid I owe you an apology for our last meeting. I severely overstepped my boundaries.” She eyed Franky appreciatively. “I seem to, um, not always make the best decisions around your partner.”  
  
“I can understand that,” Erica said, letting her guard down slightly. “And as I understand it, you’ve always kept Franky’s best interests at the forefront. It’s actually me who owes you an apology. I completely overreacted. I hope you can forgive me and that we can become friends. Franky clearly cares about you very much.”  
  
Franky was surprised Erica was being so nice. Maybe the whole getting married thing had made her feel more secure? Either way, she didn’t want to stretch the detente too far.  
  
“Shall we get to it, Gidge?”  
  
Erica tried not to bristle at the pet name. She had managed to behave herself so far.   
  
“Absolutely. If you’ll follow me…”  
  
Franky turned to Erica. “You’ll wait for me, right?”  
  
“Always.”   
  
Franky slid her hand into Erica’s hair, wrapping it firmly behind her head and pulling her in for a long, possessive kiss. Erica’s first instinct was to push Franky away — she didn’t do public displays of affection. But Franky had a firm grip on her, and Erica realized she liked it. She liked possessive Franky, liked other people seeing where she belonged. And besides, the kiss was completely distracting, taking her breath away. She grabbed the front of Franky’s jacket, pulling her in closer, forgetting entirely about the audience.  
  
When Franky ended the kiss, Erica smiled shyly at her. She caressed Franky’s face and watched as she turned to follow Bridget through the interior chamber door.   
  



	16. Don’t Say No

Franky plopped herself down in a chair opposite Bridget Westfall in her private office. Same flirty dynamic. Franky couldn’t help it.  
  
“Miss me, Gidge?”  
  
Bridget smiled but didn’t take the bait. She was wary about the banter. She still had deep feelings for Franky, even though the two were not compatible as lovers in the long term. And she genuinely wanted Franky to be happy. Erica Davidson seemed to do that for her, despite Erica’s own insecurity about the relationship.  
  
She eyed the stitches over Franky’s brow and the purplish yellow bruise over her temple. “You look a bit worse for the wear, but you seem to be in good spirits. How are you going, Franky? Really?”  
  
“Oh, come on, Gidge. Don’t get all formal on me. You seeing anyone? Slamming that hot little body of yours against some other lucky girl?”  
  
Bridget suppressed the smile this time. “Franky. Let’s stay focused. I rather like the idea of you and I and Erica becoming friends. So let’s save that conversation for a social space.”  
  
Franky straightened up in the chair. “Alright, Gidge,” she smiled back. “It is good to see you though. I’ve missed you. Cheers for making the time for me so quickly.”  
  
_Anything for you._ But she didn’t say it. “So you’ve been having bad dreams? Completely understandable after an ordeal such as the one you experienced. You want to talk about that?”  
  
“Yeah. But first, I wanted to check in with you about the Freak.”  
  
Bridget frowned. “Joan Ferguson? She’s in psych lock-up. Has something happened?”  
  
Franky leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. “I don’t know. It just feels like too much of a coincidence. But besides Red, you’re the only one who might get this.” Franky sighed. “Well, you and Vinegar Tits. And I don’t think she’d return my calls.”  
  
“So tell me…” Bridget was intrigued and concerned. Joan Ferguson was a clinical psychotic who had demonstrated the most violent tendencies. She clearly had a vendetta against Franky inside Wentworth; indeed, had almost got Franky killed. How in the world could she be reaching out beyond the psych lock-up into Franky’s life outside of prison?  
  
“I was at the police station the other day, looking through photos of murdered women who fit the profile of Ricci’s victims. There were over a hundred. A disproportionate number of them seemed to be women from Wentworth.”  
  
“What do you mean by disproportionate? Like five or six?”  
  
“Like at least twelve. Including Jodi Spiteri.”  
  
Bridget sat back in her chair, using all of her training to not look as alarmed as she felt. It had to be Ferguson. But how? “There may be someone else who has a vendetta or some type of grudge against formerly incarcerated women,” she said. “What about those ‘right hand’ vigilante women who turned on Bea?”  
  
“But they wouldn’t kill women! Their whole point was protecting women from precisely this type of violence.”  
  
“Good point,” Bridget responded. “But there has to be some evidence if Joan Ferguson is involved. Phone calls to someone on the outside, visits by someone suspicious.”  
  
“Don’t you have some friends inside the institution, Gidge? Someone who will do some digging, answer our questions?” Franky asked. “Plus, I don’t actually fit the profile of lonely, isolated introverts, like the other women killed. I think my kidnapping was personal.”  
  
Bridget didn’t like the sound of that at all. That meant Franky wasn’t out of danger. It also meant that both Franky and Erica, and other people Franky cared about, might be in the line of fire. She frowned. “I’ll see what I can find out. Meanwhile, you might want to share your theory with the police. It can’t hurt.”  
  
“Sure,” Franky replied, but she didn’t like the idea of whining to the cops. Except maybe that red-haired one.    
  
Bridget changed the subject. “So let’s talk about what happened to you, and your nightmare, okay?”  
  
Franky grimaced. “Yeah.”  
  
*******************************************  
  
It was several days later and Bridget didn’t have any new insights for Franky. She debated going to the Tactical Response Team without Erica’s knowledge. Then she thought it may be better to start with Red. Again, not telling Erica. She felt very protective of Erica, not wanting any of the ugliness associated with who Franky had to be in prison to survive, to leak out, encroach on their fairly pedestrian life together.  
  
Pedestrian. Except for the hostage thing and kidnapping. It occurred to Franky that maybe she wasn’t really cut out for a pedestrian lifestyle.  
  
It also occurred to Franky that, despite what she had assumed about Erica, she wasn’t necessarily tied to mundanity either. She was kinky as fuck in bed, and had rolled with Franky’s adventures since they had been together — several months now. She had ditched vanilla Mark. Hell, Erica had said she would marry Franky. Maybe it was time to come clean about Ferguson, about her theory of the kidnapping and serial murders. Erica was made of sterner stuff than Franky wanted to credit her for. It was time to acknowledge that.  
  
She decided to make Erica’s favorite dinner, linguine with fresh clams, a nice salad, and mango _definitely mango_ for dessert. She shopped on the promenade and returned home with her groceries, then began to prepare the meal. Erica came in right on schedule at 6:30. Franky greeted her at the door, kissing her lightly on the lips as she relieved Erica of her handbag and briefcase. Erica inhaled deeply of the garlicky-scented sauce simmering on the stove.  
  
“Hmmmmm. Linguine clams?”  
  
“For you, Sweetness,” Franky kissed her again and headed back into the kitchen. “Fancy a glass of pinot?”  
  
“Sure,” Erica said, coming to a stop behind Franky as she reached into the fridge for the bottle of wine. As she turned, Erica captured the bottle, placing it gently on the bench. She put both arms around Franky’s neck and looked pointedly into her eyes. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”  
  
_Damn! When did I get so easy to read?_ Franky thought about dissembling a bit. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this conversation. But Erica’s expression was vulnerable, slightly fearful. Franky circled Erica’s waist with both arms, pulling her in closer and leaning in for a kiss.  
  
Erica dodged her lips. “Franky…” Now she was beginning to be frightened.  
  
“Okay, okay. We need to talk. About… something.” Franky wasn’t sure how to start this conversation.  
  
“About what, Franky? Just say it.”  
  
“Look, I…” Franky realized she was starting to scare her lover, but still was hesitant to put out into the real world that she thought both of them were in danger because of that fucking lunatic Freak. She wanted to protect Erica from everything.  
  
Erica began to shake her head, knotting her fists into the front of Franky’s apron. “No. No! You aren’t backing out!” Erica’s eyes were wild. They were to go to Auckland in the morning to be married. _Don’t you dare bail on me now!_  
  
“What?” Franky said, genuinely shocked. _Where did that come from?_ “No, Erica.” She kissed her. “Of course not. You’re stuck with me. You don’t ever have to worry about that, ok?” She kissed her again, this time lingering, putting all of her love and care for her partner into a frenzied lip lock. Erica began to calm down. Franky rained kisses across Erica’s face and neck. “I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time saying this. It’s killing me that somehow my past is coming back to haunt the both of us.”  
  
Erica pulled back. She had been near tears, but was calming down. “God, Franky,” she sighed, resting her forehead against Franky’s chest. “I don’t think there’s anything we can’t manage together. Just as long as we stay. Why don’t we eat and then you can tell me what is going on.”  
  
_As long as we stay. Together._ Had Erica just professed undying love? _Together forever?_ Unfiltered Erica made Franky very horny. She kissed Erica again, but this time with another intent. She slid her hands down, squeezing a firm arse through Erica’s linen skirt, and pushed a thigh between Erica’s legs. Erica inhaled sharply.  
  
“Franky…”  
  
Franky kissed down her neck, popping open the first button on Erica’s blouse with her teeth. Erica laughed softly.  
  
“How did you do that?” One hand wandered into Franky’s hair, not encouraging, not resisting. “But I’m starving, Baby. And your clam sauce is to die for. Let’s eat and talk. Then go to bed early.”  
  
Franky unloosed another button with her teeth and kissed between Erica’s breasts as she slid both hands underneath Erica’s skirt, pushing the material up over her hips. She pulled the knickers down to mid thigh and cupped Erica’s sex in one hand. She was wet. Franky smiled against the skin on Erica’s neck, as she continued to lick and suck there. Erica seemed to always be ready for her. She hoped that never changed.  
  
Erica gasped. “Ahhhh, Franky. Wha…” She was losing her ability to form complete sentences. She knew she needed food. But she could not resist Franky’s touch. It was hypnotic, the feel of Franky’s fingers in her intimate places. She thrust herself against Franky’s palm. “Mmmmmm…”  
  
Franky captured her lips again, possessing her hungrily as she quickly brought Erica to completion. Erica collapsed against her as she rode out the tremors. Franky held her tightly, loving the feeling of this woman in her arms, the wetness on her fingers.  
  
Erica took a deep breath and separated herself from Franky, straightening her skirt. She kissed her partner chastely, shaking her head to clear the after-orgasm haze, and moved to set the table. “You are a hot mess, Franky Doyle. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that we need to talk about whatever you’re not wanting to talk about.”  
  
Franky put the fingers that had been inside Erica into her mouth and savored the flavor of her lover, as she went to the stove to put on the fresh pasta and stir the sauce.  
  
After they sat down and tucked into their meal, Franky revealed her theory about the murders, about her kidnapping, and about the Freak. Erica didn’t bat an eye, asked about Bridget’s thoughts, asked if she thought it would be useful to talk to Vera Bennet or Linda Miles, or even Bea Smith.  In fact, Erica seemed to be much more collected than Franky felt.  
  
“You understand that if I’m right, you may be in danger as well,” Franky said.  
  
Erica focused on her pasta, swirling the noodles carefully onto her fork, not too much, not too little. “Yes. I understand that,” she said. “I know the things that went on inside Wentworth, what people are capable of under certain circumstances.” She looked up at Franky. “And there are some people who are just bad seeds. Sounds like Ferguson is one of them.” She put the fork full of linguine into her mouth, chewed and swallowed deliberately. “What do you think we should do?”  
  
“I was thinking I should talk to Shannon. Tactical Response. Seems they did a bang-up job finding me. They might have some insight here.”  
  
Erica smiled. The flirt. Franky couldn’t help it. It drove Erica mad. But they would be married soon. “Why don’t I start with Kerry Vincent, the team leader? She and I developed a bit of a rapport…”  
  
Franky frowned. “What kind of rapport?”  
  
Jealous Franky? Erica kind of liked that. “A rapport. Wrangling that deMedici ego and finding you. She’s a good person.”  
  
“Let’s go talk to her together,” Franky said definitively.  
  
They finished dinner and, as agreed, went to bed early. They skipped dessert. Franky’s injuries did not hamper any activity that night.


	17. Something’s Gotta Give

They splurged on a luxury suite at a Sofitel on Auckland Harbor, downtown, making their way over to the Department of Internal Affairs for a civil ceremony with a Registrar. Franky found herself incredibly nervous, stumbling over the words, her hands shaking in Erica’s as they faced each other and the official reading their vows. Erica surprised her with a pair of plain but clearly expensive platinum bands. Franky hadn’t even thought about rings. She was completely overwhelmed.   
  
They’d had to fill out paperwork over a week ago in order to get the license to marry.  
  
 _The only Australian Commonwealth Representative who could authorize their forms was in Sidney, so there they were, filling out the paperwork together. They were simple forms. But filing the forms led to a discussion about married names._  
  
 _“Erica Doyle. How do you feel about that?”_  
  
 _“How do you feel about Franky Davidson?”_  
  
 _“Nah. I’m top. You should take my name.” Franky kissed her, playfully._  
  
 _Erica pouted. The Representative sighed and rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to decide this now. You just need to sign the forms in my presence.”_  
  
 _“Davidson-Doyle. Franky and Erica Davidson-Doyle. That work for you, Babe?” Erica batted her eyes at Franky._  
  
 _Franky pulled her close, dipped her back. “Absolutely, Ms. Davidson-Doyle.” Then she kissed her thoroughly._  
  
After the ceremony, they walked the few blocks together back to the hotel, hand in hand. Franky looked positively shell shocked. As they entered the lobby, Erica stopped Franky and stood looking in her face for several seconds. Franky’s expression was stunned.  
  
“Hey. Babe. Are you alright?” Erica tried to ignore the nervous tingle creeping up her spine. _Was Franky already regretting this?_   
  
Franky tried to focus on her partner’s face, but her gaze was drawn back down to the platinum band on her finger. _I’m married? To Erica? How did I get here?_ She couldn’t conjure anything about them together. She remembered Erica at Wentworth, pushing her away. She remembered working with Michael deMedici. She knew that she loved Erica. She had always wanted Erica to love her back. But were they actually together? Married to each other? Franky scrunched her brow.  
  
Erica kissed Franky’s hand. Her finger, where the new ring sat gleaming. “Franky, honey. Please say something.”  
  
Franky continued to stare at her blankly.   
  
Erica looked around the lobby. No one was really paying attention to them. She grabbed the front of Franky’s leather jacket with both hands and pulled her close. _Fuck it_ , she thought, and kissed her spouse.   
  
Franky responded immediately, slipping her arms around Erica’s waist, diving into the kiss. Erica gave herself to it, letting Franky take it deeper, losing herself in the deliciousness of Franky’s tongue battling her own, dominating her. Something niggled in the back of Erica’s mind. She vaguely remembered they were in a hotel lobby, and shoved that thought away, wrapping her arms around Franky’s neck and moaning into her mouth.  
  
Franky didn’t want to stop. Everything was settling into place. She had Erica in her arms. They were married. Legally. In New Zealand, anyway. But Erica really loved her. Had given herself to Franky. Everything rushed back — dinner at the Davidson house, the first night they’d made love in Franky’s loft; when they established Erica’s safe word; Erica declaring her love for Franky; shopping for sex toys; Erica asking Franky to move in with her the same day Erica gave an immediate, unequivocal, emphatic yes to getting married before Franky had even asked. Franky was over the moon.  
  
She pulled back from the kiss, chuckling. “I’m sorry I zoned out a bit there,” she said, continuing to kiss her partner. “I guess I didn’t really believe this could happen.” She kissed her again. Then she heard a whistle.  
  
They both looked up. A small crowd had gathered around them, staring. Erica turned crimson and buried her face in Franky’s neck. Franky held up their hands, entwined, newly be-ringed. “We just got FUCKING MARRIED!” Franky yelled.

The crowed erupted into cheers and applause. Franky continued to hold Erica against her, kissing her as she walked them to the elevator. When the doors opened, Franky shooed everyone out of the elevator, pushed Erica in and kissed her wife deeply as the doors closed, the crowd still cheering them on.  
  
The next day, Franky and Erica began married life back in Melbourne with a visit from Michael deMedici. Erica had taken a long weekend, a sort of ‘staycation’ honeymoon. Franky needed to look for work and Erica had several important dockets on her desk. Not a good time to be absent for more than a few days. They resolved to honeymoon soon. After they’d shared the news with Erica’s family.  
  
Michael had been sentenced to ten days of house arrest, more a slap on the wrist than actual punishment. Franky had called her a number of times over the past couple of weeks. Mostly, she didn’t answer. It was now Tuesday morning. Franky rang Michael’s mobile. Surprisingly, she answered this time.  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
“DeMedici.”  
  
They had talked a few times before, but Michael was reserved, giving one word answers. Which probably made sense. There were many things they should not discuss over the phone. Even so, Franky couldn’t get any even casual, social, friendly talk out of her at all, let alone engage a real conversation. But today was the first day Michael was off house arrest.  
  
There was silence. Franky continued undaunted. “You should come over for dinner.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Do I have to come over there and get you?” Erica sat next to her on the lounge, angrily shaking her head _nonononono_.  
  
“What do you want, Doyle?”  
  
“I want to talk to you. I still don’t have a complete picture of what happened. I have a lot of questions. And you’re off house arrest.”   
  
“It was all in the news.”  
  
Franky sighed. “No, deMedici, it wasn’t. Now get your arse over here and bring your beachwear. It’s a great day for a swim.”  
  
“You don’t have to keep pretending to be my mate, Doyle.”  
  
“I was never pretending, deMedici. You know that. Just come on! I actually miss your ugly mug.”  
  
Michael made a sound. It sounded like a muffled cough. Was that a chuckle?  
  
“Last time I saw your girlfriend, she threatened to shoot me.”  
  
Franky’s eyes widened and she turned to Erica. “Did you threaten to shoot Michael?”  
  
Erica nodded, sheepishly.  
  
“Well, deMedici, you see, now I’m dying to hear your end of things. Erica promises not to hurt you. Bring your narrow arse over here, alright?” She imagined Michael smiling.  
  
“Right.”  
  
*************************************  
  
Barely half an hour later, Franky buzzed Michael into the building, and went to the door of the flat to wait for her guest to come out of the elevator. Erica was setting the table for dinner. She had promised to be civil, but wouldn’t guarantee that she would be cheery and social. Franky figured Michael wouldn’t even notice.  
  
The elevator pinged, and the tall, dark-haired woman emerged, looking both ways down the long hallway. She spotted Franky and stood staring for a long moment, then started toward the flat.  
  
Franky’s breath caught. Michael was so thin. And pale! Had she not been outside at all since the incident? As she got closer, Franky realized she was barely skin and bones. She was wearing a well-worn Bob Dylan tee shirt and loose denim jeans. In one hand she had a leather jacket, in the other, a flimsy backpack. Her eyes were masked by sunglasses. Soon they were standing face to face. Franky reached up and gently removed Michael’s sunglasses. Her eyes were reddish, sunken. The usually vibrant, electric violet was flat. There were dark patches below her eyes. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. She looked all of fifteen years old.  
  
Franky blinked back tears as she pulled Michael to her, taking her bag and tossing it into the flat, closing the door behind them. She wrapped her arms around Michael’s waist and then began to gently caress her back, taking the opportunity to surreptitiously check the extent of Michael’s weight loss. Everything under Franky’s fingers was bone. She could feel all of Michael’s ribs.   
  
After nearly two minutes just standing at the door, letting Franky hold her, Michael finally wrapped her arms around her mate’s shoulders. She looked across the room at Erica, who was watching them surreptitiously as she prepared some hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen. A single tear made it’s way down Michael’s face, and she closed her eyes.  
  
Several minutes later, Franky led her to the lounge where Michael collapsed. Franky sat next to her, sideways, facing her friend. Michael looked up at the ceiling, using her t-shirt to swipe at her damp cheeks. Those ribs, Franky winced.   
  
“Michael, what’s happened to you?”  
  
“Besides almost getting you killed?” She looked over at Franky. “I’m really sorry, Doyle. I don’t… I can’t… I’m not a good friend for you. You should stay away from me.” She sighed. “And I’m very, very happy to see you.” She reached out for Franky’s hand. Franky met her in the middle.  
  
Then pinched the bridge of her nose and close her eyes, sighing. So Michael did blame herself for everything. Yet she wasn’t completely shut down emotionally, thank God. “Wait. Let’s slow things up a bit. Right now I just want to hear about you. You’re skin and bones. And you look like hell.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“And you and I both know that what happened wasn’t your fault. Well, at least I know it.”  
  
“You’re wrong.”  
  
Franky sighed loudly. “What is happening with you? Now? Are you ill?”  
  
Michael turned on the lounge so that she was facing Franky, knees pulled up to her chin. “I quit. I quit the firm. I quit my family and moved out of the penthouse.”  
  
“Wow!” Franky blew out a long deep, breath. “So how is Elena taking that? And your father? The rest of your family?”  
  
Michael laughed low and bitter. “Elena? That _porca puttana_ went to Italy the day after everything happened. She won’t be back until we’re out of the news. _Papa,_ ” she said this with Italian accented inflection, “thinks I’ll come back on my hands and knees soon enough. He’s focused on cleaning up any incriminating ties to Ricci.” Her voice was hoarse and raspy, like she’d been drinking whisky and chain smoking for the past several weeks.   
  
“Jesus.” Franky’s mother was Italian and used to speak it at home. Franky understood the language and could communicate, but not well. Michael had just called her mother a pig slut. In Italy, pairing anything with _porca_ was the worst possible insult. _And I thought I had a fucked up family. I think I need a glass of wine for this conversation._  
  
Erica magically appeared bearing a tray with three glasses of wine and a plate of hors d’oeuvres. A plate, which she placed strategically between Michael and Franky on the couch, forcing Franky to let go of Michael's hand and slide over several centimeters away from her mate. When the wine was distributed, Erica sat on the floor next to Franky, who remained on the lounge.  
  
Franky had never heard this many words come out of Michael at a single time, except in court. The crying must have loosened her up. Michael started picking at the food, eating small bits. Franky shifted the conversation away from Michael’s family.  
  
“So how did you get onto Ricci?”  
  
Michael blinked. Looked down at her wine glass. Then looked at Erica. Erica’s expression was carefully neutral.   
  
Michael ate a bite of cheese and cracker. Then looked at Franky. “He always made my skin crawl. And I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” She glanced at Erica.  
  
“The day we met him, before everything?”  
  
“Even before that. But definitely that day, at that meeting, when you went out of the room, he said some things that were… “ She glanced at Erica again. “Inappropriate.”  
  
“Um hmm.” Franky put her free hand on Erica’s head, which was resting on her thigh, running her fingers through the blond tresses. She seemed remarkable calm.  
  
“Later that evening, I had someone do some digging. But I didn’t get a full report until the next morning. And by then, you were already gone.”  
  
Franky turned over Michael’s shorthand in her mind. Then she said it out loud for Erica’s benefit.  
  
“So basically, you have a private investigator on payroll who does ‘special’ projects, who could turn around this kind of information in eight hours.” Michael nodded. “Who decided to focus on Ricci’s relationship with young women?”  
  
“I had a hunch.”  
  
“So you guessed he might have some sordid history with women. Asked someone to do the digging. Turned up a complete shit show of misogyny and murder. And bullied Tactical Response into looking for me. All within about a 12 hour window.”  
  
Michael scrunched her brow. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She had now eaten through most of the hors d’oeuvres on the plate. Franky guessed it was the first decent food she’d eaten in days, so didn’t remark on it.  
  
“So not only did you not almost get me killed, the only reason I’m alive right now is because of you.”  
  
Michael drained her glass and turned her body, stretching out again and looking at the ceiling. “The reason you almost got killed is because you worked for me and my family. If not for that…”  
  
“Knock it off, deMedici. No pity party here. No one made me work there. No one chose to be born into your family. So just cut it.”  
  
Michael turned to Franky. “How are you? I heard broken ribs, concussion…”   
  
“I wasn’t… sexually assaulted. Just beaten up. Nothing that I haven’t experienced before. I was in prison for four years, remember.”  
  
“You’ve broken ribs before? At Wentworth?” Erica asked, looking a bit incredulous.  
  
“Erica, you know what went on in there. I don’t know how many busted lips. Yes, broken ribs. Concussion. Ferguson’s cavity searches…” Franky shuddered. She focused on Michael. “See this mark here?” She pointed to a scar above the tattoo on her left breast. “Someone tried to cut my tattoo off.”  
  
Erica stood up and glared down at Franky. “You wouldn’t tell me… Was it Jacs?” Franky nodded. “Fuckall, Franky!”  
  
“There was nothing you could have done about it, Erica. Sit down.”  
  
Erica sat, then looked at Michael. She was quickly gaining a heartfelt respect, maybe even liking for this woman. This woman who obviously genuinely cared about Franky, and who had, it seemed, been a key reason why Franky Davidson-Doyle was alive this very moment. “Would you like more wine?”   
  
Michael nodded and passed Erica her glass.  
  
“Why don’t we eat?” Franky said. They all moved to the table.  
  
They had a congenial lunch. Franky and Erica talked with Michael about the newly discovered details of the cases of murdered women, Joan Ferguson’s possible role in it all. Michael had some “connections,” as Franky suspected, inside the pych unit where the Freak was being held.   
  
Erica had to admit that the more she got to know Michael deMedici, the less she disliked her. And when Michael and Franky went down for a swim, Erica didn’t hover on the beach. She stayed up on the lanai. With binoculars.  
  
***********************************  
  
The next day Franky drove Erica into her office, walking her all the way to her desk. She’d heard back from both Bridget, finally; and deMedici, very quickly, about Ferguson and her antics in the psych unit. From Gidge, Franky learned that Ferguson didn’t seem to be getting better, was still obsessed with the characters from her tenure at Wentworth, and not in any condition to be released, even into a prison population.   
  
From Michael, she got much more useful information. Not only was Ferguson still bent on revenge against Franky and Bea Smith, she had a constant visitor, shady looking guy, who came through at least once a month. Michael was able to email her a photo of him, and his personal information. She and Erica had an appointment to talk with Kerry Vincent at Tactical Response after Erica finished her work for the day.  
  
Michael had also turned up some much more damning information about Ferguson, that connected her directly to Alessandro Ricci. Ricci owned a set of half-way houses that catered to recently released female prisoners. Several of the missing and murdered women had been staying at one of those houses when they disappeared. All of the houses had magically appeared on Wentworth’s social work referral resource list after Ferguson came on board.   
  
And Ferguson, through several hard-to-trace shell corporations, was partial owner with Ricci. She was sending women directly to their deaths, right into Ricci’s hands. Michael would have been one of the few people, deMedici one of the few firms in the city, who could have untangled the web of lies and deceit so quickly.  
  
She stood across from Erica’s desk, looking out at the interns in the office, who were clearly trying not to stare at her. Her spidey senses were tingling. She couldn’t pin point exactly what was bothering her, but she didn’t want to leave Erica alone.  She turned as Erica approached her, pulling her into a tight embrace.   
  
“Hey,” Erica looked into Franky’s worried eyes. “What’s going on in there?” She kissed her.   
  
“I don’t know. Just be careful, okay?” Franky kissed her again. “Keep your eyes open. Don’t go into any dark alleys alone.” She smiled, kissing Erica’s forehead.  “And why don’t you go ahead and send the photo of Ferguson’s friend over to Inspector Vincent? Can’t hurt if she has some time to check him out before we meet.”  
  
“Sure,” Erica said, pulling herself reluctantly away from her lovers arms. “Now you need to get out of here. I have a lot to do.”  
  
Franky wandered slowly through the office, chatting up the young barristers, then stopping at Car’s desk before leaving.  
  
“Oi, Carolyn!”  
  
“Hello Franky,” the young woman beamed.  
  
“Keep your eyes out for Miss Davidson, will you?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Car scrunched her brow.  
  
“I dunno. Just, strange men — or women — calling. Anyone weird coming by. Try not to let her go anywhere alone. If she wants coffee or lunch, go get it for her.” She tried not to go down the rabbit hole of paranoia, but wished she could somehow screen Erica’s calls.  
  
“Is she in danger?”  
  
“Let’s hope not. But something is off, something about what happened to me doesn’t seem to be quite resolved. And I don’t want her getting accidentally mixed up in it.” She pulled a pad of paper and a pen from Car’s desk and wrote her mobile down there. “If you see or think you see or hear anything at all that strikes you as off, call me. OK?”  
  
Car nodded her head somberly. And then smiled shyly. She had Franky’s Doyle’s phone number. Not that she couldn’t have pulled it from Miss Davidson’s contacts; but Franky had given it to her. In front of everyone.  
  
Franky went down to the car park to get the car and circled the block a few times, looking for anything or anyone that seemed out of place. She parked a few blocks away and walked around for half an hour or so, casing the area. Nothing really looked off. But her spidey sense was still on high alert. She saw a guy that looked familiar, but she couldn’t place why. She got back in the car, had a thought, called Michael.  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
“This wouldn’t be your guy, following me around this morning?”  
  
Silence from deMedici.  
  
“DeMedici…”  
  
“Shut it. I’m… concerned. Joan Ferguson is dangerous. It doesn’t cost you a thing. Just deal with it.”  
  
Franky sighed. She was actually grateful for the backup. She just wished it was focused on Erica, not herself. “You should have told me. But thank you.”   
  
“I didn’t think you would like it.”  
  
“I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. Michael.”  
  
“Franky.”  
  
“Come for dinner tonight, late. We’re meeting with Inspector Vincent when Erica gets out. Then come over.”  
  
“No. I’m busy.”  
  
“No you aren’t. Come at 9pm.”  
  
“    “ Silence again, from deMedici.  
  
“Maybe,” she said softly. And rang off.  
  



	18. Something’s Gotta Give

Franky had an interview in the afternoon, which turned out to be very close to the loft where Michael now lived full time. She called to see if Michael felt like company, which she did. Franky still had the car park remote and keys to the flat. Might as well turn them all over. She had talked with Erica after her interview and agreed to meet at Tactical Response. Erica had a rough, intense day and wanted to go home and shower and change before meeting with Inspector Vincent.  
  
As she opened the door to the loft, Michael met her, handing her a beer and kissing her boldly on the mouth. Franky wanted to be angry and offended, but she wasn’t. Just because she was married didn’t mean Michael deMedici wasn’t still hot as shit. But still…  
  
“Not cool, deMedici.”  
  
Michael was on her mobile and turned her back to Franky, walking toward the lounge and the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the flat. Franky followed her to the window, enjoying the view. There was a small lanai there, with a simple table and two chairs. That was new. Franky had never used the lanai. On the table was an overflowing ashtray, a half-full bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and an empty but clearly used tumbler.  
  
Franky went out and poured herself a couple of fingers of the scotch, thought about lighting a cigarette, but didn’t.  
  
Michael came out onto the lanai. “Where’s your mobile?”  
  
Franky pulled it out of her jacket pocket.  
  
“You need to call Erica. Now. Get her out of the flat.”  
  
Franky stood up. “What?”  
  
“My guy that was following you this morning. He’s been on Erica since she left the office. Ferguson’s guy just approached the front door to your building.”  
  
Franky’s world narrowed immediately to her mobile. She rang the house phone first. It buzzed, buzzed, then went to voicemail. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!_ She then rang Erica’s cell.  
  
“Hey, Ms Davidson-Doyle,” Erica said, sexily. “What are you wearing?”  
  
“Erica, I need you to do exactly what I say. Don’t ask any questions. Just move. Quickly. You need to get out of there.”  
  
“What? Franky…”  
  
“DO IT!”  
  
“Franky, I’ve just got out of the shower. I’m not even dressed.”  
  
“Pull on something quickly and get the fuck out of there, Erica. Ferguson’s friend is downstairs. We have to assume he’s coming up.”  
  
“Oh, God…”  
  
“Move, Erica. Where are you?”  
  
The phone went dead. Franky swore, then redialed. It went to voicemail. She redialed. Michael grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the front door of the loft. While Erica’s mobile was ringing, a call came through, beeping. It was Erica calling her back. Franky squashed the urge to vomit.  
  
“Are you right?”  
  
“I dropped the phone. I’m dressed.”  
  
“Get out of there. Get your car keys, leave everything else. Don’t even worry about shoes. Turn left out of the front door and take the stairs furthest from the elevator to the carpark.”  
  
“Ok. Ok. Ok. Shit.”  
  
“Go south out of the lot. I’m on my way there. Just keep going South. I’ll find you.”  
  
“Franky.” Erica was crying.  
  
“I love you, honey. Just keep moving.”  
  
Franky realized Michael had pulled her down to their carpark. They were now standing by the Porsche. Michael pressed the keys into her hand.  
  
“I don’t drive well.” Michael said. Which was true. She rarely drove herself anywhere. “You’re going to have to do this. I’ll stay on with Erica.”  
  
“Get in,” Franky said. She handed Michael her mobile.  
  
“Erica. This is Michael. Franky is driving. I’ve called Tactical Response. They should be there in a few minutes. You need to get as far away from the building as you can, as quickly as you can.”  
  
Erica was hyperventilating.  
  
“Ms. Davidson-Doyle,” Michael said.  
  
Erica’s breathing calmed slightly as she was momentarily distracted by Michael’s inside information. _Did Franky tell her?_ “How did you…?”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“At the car. Getting in the car.”  
  
Michael connected the mobile to bluetooth in the car, put Erica on speaker.  
  
“Baby?” Franky called out. “Where are you, Honey?”  
  
“Pulling out of the car park. Ok.” Erica’s voice was very shaky.  
  
“Are you clear?” Franky heard sirens on Erica’s end of the line. “Is that TR? Please tell me that’s TR.”  
  
“Yeah. Ok. I can hear sirens too. I… “  
  
There was a crashing sound, some static, then silence.  
  
“Erica?” Franky waited for a response. There was nothing. "Erica, honey, please?”  
  
The connection dropped. Franky pressed the gas pedal to the floor, fishtailing the Porsche through a stop sign, then a red light, narrowly missing t-boning a sedan. She was a few scant minutes from the St. Kilda flat. But was she too late? Surely that had been TR arriving.  
  
Michael tried to reconnect to Erica’s mobile. It went to voicemail.  
  
**************************************  
  
When Kerry Vincent learned that there was a potential threat to Erica Davidson, she jumped in her police-issue car and made haste to the scene, to Davidson’s flat. She had a grown fond of the diminutive but steely blonde, whose girlfriend had been held hostage; then kidnapped and beaten all within the space of two months. Kerry really wanted to bring this to an end, give the women some much needed peace. _And fucking cunt punt that Ferguson woman if she was really behind this. Seriously?_  
  
When she arrived and parked, she immediately called for police back up. Both teams had disappeared inside and around the back of the building. She double checked that her own glock was loaded, then approached the front of the building. Her mobile buzzed. She looked down at it to see a text from Michael deMedici.  
  
_She’s in the car park underneath. He may have already gotten to her._  
  
How the fuck did deMedici know where Davidson was?  
  
“Lawson.”  
  
“Here Kerry.”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“Tenth floor. At Davidson’s flat. The door has been forced…”  
  
_All clear!_ Kerry could hear from Lawson’s team in the background.  
  
“Send someone to the carpark, underneath the building.”  
  
“The other team is on the perimeter.”  
  
“Her girlfriend was on the phone with her until a few seconds ago. She was in the car park, and then the mobile went dead. She just texted me.”  
  
“On our way.”  
  
“Leon?” Kerry called to the Intelligence Officer back at base.  
  
“Yeah, Kerry.”  
  
“Any video of the past 10 - 15 minutes from in front of this building?”  
  
“Already got it. A guy matching our perp’s description forced the front door approximately 15 minutes ago.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
The police arrived then, and Kerry moved to instruct them to set up a perimeter. As she turned back to the building, she could hear a commotion coming from the carpark. Her team was yelling. And so was someone behind her.  
  
“Vincent! Come on!”  
  
Kerry turned to see Michael deMedici, holding a smaller woman who was trying to attack the officer keeping them outside the tape. Kerry shook her head and turned back toward the building.  
  
“It’s Doyle! Erica’s partner! Come on!”  
  
Kerry sighed. She was going to regret this. But when Erica came out of that car park, she would want to see Franky Doyle. Then gun shots rang out, clearly from inside. She glared at deMedici. “You stay put!” Then she drew her weapon and moved toward the scene.  
  
As she approached, Lawson came up the drive, carrying a limp Erica Davidson in his arms. Her chest was covered in blood. Kerry’s eyes went wide and her throat closed up, but she breathed through it.  
  
“Call an ambo!” Lawson shouted, approaching Kerry. “She’s probably fine. Blood’s not hers. Shannon shot the perp. She,” he nodded at Erica, “fainted.”  
  
“Okay. Okay. But stop moving. Her girlfriend is on the perimeter and is going to lose her shit if she sees this. Franky Doyle…”  
  
Lawson raised an eyebrow. “Right.” He’d seen Franky Doyle twice in two months, both times under severe duress. The kid was a rock. She probably deserved a medal. But everyone had a breaking point. She didn’t need to see this. He crouched down to the ground, still holding the blonde. “Erica?” He said, patting her face gently. “Come on, Erica. Open those baby blues. You’re fine, ok? Franky needs to see that.”  
  
Erica’s eyes fluttered open. “Franky?” She stared at Lawson, confused.  
  
Lawson smiled. “Are you okay to stand up?” She nodded. He pulled her up to her feet, pointing her at Kerry. “Go with Inspector Vincent. I think there’s someone over there looking for you.” Lawson turned to walk back into the car park.  
  
Erica began to look around wildly, trying to spot Franky. Kerry pulled her into an embrace, as much to cover her bloody, now nearly transparent linen shirt as for comfort. Whose comfort, Kerry wasn’t sure. But she was exceedingly happy Erica had not been injured.  
  
“Are you alright? Anything hurt?”  
  
Erica leaned into Kerry, grateful for the friendly contact. “I need to find Franky.”  
  
“Yeah. She’s over there losing her mind. But it’s only going to get worse if she sees you like this.” Kerry pulled away and gazed pointedly down Erica’s front.  
  
Erica followed Kerry’s gaze. “Shit,” she whispered.  
  
“Yeah. I need you to come over to the TR vehicle so I can get you something to cover up with. Then I can take you to Franky.” Kerry quickly looked her over. It was hard to tell if she’d actually been injured, and she knew it would be awhile before the adrenaline ran down. “I think there may be knick there, on your neck. Did he have a weapon?”  
  
Erica’s scrunched her brow, trying to remember. Everything had happened so fast. She remembered falling. And gunshots. And a knife. He’d had a knife at her throat when the redhead had pointed the gun at them. “He had a knife, pressed here.” Erica put fingers up against her jugular and winced. They came away bloody. Her blood.  
  
“Ok. You need to see a medic. I want you to wait by the TR vehicle until the ambo’s get here. I’ll bring Franky to you.” She put her arm around Erica’s shoulders, shielding her from sight of the gathering crowds and flash of media cameras, as well as from Franky’s view. When they arrived at the SUV, Kerry pulled a Tactical Response jacket out of the boot and helped Erica into it, then sat her on the bumper. “Don’t move!”  
  
Erica nodded. She wasn’t going anywhere unless it was with Franky.  
  
Kerry approached the police officers and tape on the edge of the scene, where deMedici was clearly restraining, with both arms, a frantic, but somewhat present Franky Doyle. _What a fucking life this girl has. Never a dull moment. What kind of karma is that?_ Franky was quite pretty — even in this desperate state. She looked remarkably like Stella Dagostino, one of Kerry’s team. Same olive skin, same green eyes, same cheeky grin that could melt the coldest of hearts. They could be twins. Except Franky was an older, harder version of Stella. Probably just as loyal to her mates. Must be what drew Michael deMedici in.  
  
“Erica is fine, Franky. Just anxious to see you. And I want to take you to her, but you need to calm yourself,” Kerry said, watching Franky closely. She was holding back tears, but stopped struggling against Michael’s grip.  
  
She sniffed. “I’m good. I’m right. Just take me to her. Please.” She exhaled, hard. Michael released her.  
  
Kerry focused on the taller woman. “No tricks from you, deMedici. These two have been through enough, aye?” Michael nodded. “Let’s see them home, safely.” She rocked back on her heel. “And I want to talk to you.”  
  
Michael’s eyebrow went up. “Cosa fai, Inspector?” _What’s going on?_  
  
Franky glared back over her shoulder at Michael. Kerry grabbed Franky by the upper arm and led her beyond the tape, toward the TR SUV where Erica was stationed. The ambulances arrived at that moment and Kerry waved at them as she released Franky to Erica’s embrace. She watched the couple as she directed the medics to the car park and over to where Erica and Franky were clinging to each other for dear life. Then they kissed. It was a desperate, deep… hot… kiss. Kerry looked away, then at Michael, who was standing next to her but staring at them with an inscrutable expression.  
  
“I take it Franky Doyle is more than an employee for you.”  
  
“It was never serious. And she terminated. After the kidnapping.”  
  
“It was never serious for you or for her?”  
  
_For her_ , Michael finally admitted to herself. “We’re mates. That’s all.” Michael focused her gaze on Kerry. “What do you want, Vincent?”  
  
“I want to know how you knew this guy was going to be here. How you saved their asses twice now. How you always seem to be one step ahead of bad news for Franky and Erica.”  
  
Michael’s brow furrowed momentarily, then smoothed out again. “I just pay attention to people I care about. And I’ve got enough money to follow my nose.”  
  
“It’s a damn good nose, deMedici.”  
  
“Is that a compliment, Vincent?” One side of Michael’s mouth quirked up into a half-smile.  
  
“No,” Kerry smiled at her. “But if you ever think of changing career, come talk to me. You’re pretty fucking sharp. And you’ve got good instincts.” She tugged on Michael’s sleeve cuff. “Walk with me for a bit. Don’t touch anything. And don’t say anything unless I ask you to say something. Can you do that?”  
  
“Yes,” Michael said, following Kerry toward the car park. She watched Kerry’s arse. It was a very nice, toned arse encased in tight jeans. Michael wondered if Kerry Vincent had ever switch hit.  
  
********************************  
  
Franky ended the kiss and squeezed Erica tightly against her, eyes closed against the maddening scene around them, feeling Erica breathing, nearly hyperventilating. Erica was wrapped tightly around her, shaking.  
  
“You need to let go, Miss Davidson. We need to have a look at you, check your vitals. You may be in shock.”  
  
It was the medic. Franky opened her eyes and made eye contact with the middle-aged woman in uniform, waiting patiently by the gurney, for Erica to disengage. Erica began shaking violently against her. Her teeth were chattering.  
  
“Erica. Honey. You need to let go, let the medics check you out. I’m right here.”  
  
Erica held on tighter. Franky felt calm, despite the circumstance. She knew she needed to be a rock for Erica, help her to ratchet down. She began walking Erica back toward the gurney, where the medic waited. She reached behind her where Erica’s hands were gripped tightly in her shirt, disengaging her fingers as she pushed her lover onto the stretcher.  
  
“I’m right here, love.” Erica reluctantly laid down, but kept a vice-like grip on Franky’s hands, staring into her eyes. Her gaze was wild, untethered.  
  
Then Franky saw Erica’s blood-soaked front. Franky’s shirt was wet with it as well. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “Erica, are you hurt? Honey, talk to me.” She took a deep breath. “Baby, are you hurt?” The medics swarmed across her body, tearing the shirt open, pulling their hands apart. “ERICA!”  
  
As the ambo tried to put the oxygen mask on her, Erica slapped it away. “It’s not my blood. I’m fine. Franky, don’t go…”  
  
Franky moved around to Erica’s head, where she was mostly out of the way of the technicians, who were poking and prodding Erica’s torso. She put her hands on either side of Erica’s face, kissing her lips upside down. Erica’s shaking began to subside.  
  
“It’s not mine. I was already wet from the shower. Then they shot him. Blood was everywhere. Not mine.”  
  
Franky watched the medics frantically looking for wounds, not finding any.  
  
“We need her to relax,” the technician said. “Can you help us get the oxygen on? A bit of a sedative? Her blood pressure has to come down.”  
  
Franky helped guide the mask to Erica’s face, staying with her as they loaded her into the ambulance.  
  
“You’re going to be fine, baby. I love you. You’re going to be fine.”  
  
As they rode through town to hospital, Franky replayed the events in her mind.  
  
_She didn’t remember much about how they arrived at the scene, once Erica’s phone went dead._  
  
_She tried to fight the police to get across the perimeter line, but Michael held her back. Then she tried to fight Michael, but Michael was stronger. Gunshots. And then Lawson came out carrying a limp Erica in his arms. Was that blood? Franky screamed and sobbed. Michael held her tighter._  
  
_“She’s fine. You have to believe that.”_  
  
_Franky sobbed. “Let me go! Please!”_  
  
_“Focus. Ferguson has to pay.”_  
  
_Franky took a deep breath. Yes. Ferguson must pay. She stopped struggling and let Michael hold her up, watching as Lawson and Erica disappeared from view._  
  
_“Michael. I can’t breathe without her.”_  
  
_“She’s fine, Doyle. Just hold on.” Michael had no idea if Erica was fine. It didn’t look good. But she couldn’t believe that after everything Franky had sacrificed, everything she’d been through, this was the end of it. She prayed to whatever gods might be up there that Erica Davidson would be alright. She needed to believe it too. She knew she would lose them both if anything happened to Erica, and Erica was starting to grow on her. Especially as someone important to Franky. She realized neither of them were breathing, and took a deep breath herself. “Come on, Doyle. Stay with me.”_  
  
_“Ferguson is going to die,” Franky growled._  
  
_“I’ll take care of it,” Michael promised._  
  
_Lawson reappeared, holding Erica up, his arm around her shoulder and guiding her toward Kerry Vincent. Michael choked back a sob. Franky turned in her arms and let loose for several minutes, trusting Michael to keep her safe in that moment. She recovered quickly, and again began straining for a view of Erica. That’s when she saw Kerry approaching. She calmed herself, feigning a presence and groundedness she didn’t at all feel._  
  
_“Erica is fine, Franky. Just anxious to see you.”_  
  
Franky focused on Erica, kissed her forehead. Erica blinked up at her, sleepily.  
  
“She seems to be fine, just a bit of shock.” The medic placed a bandaid on a small cut on Erica’s neck. “Just a knick. We’ll take her in, have the doctor look her over, clean her up a bit and you can likely take her home.”  
  
Tears ran down Franky’s face. “Thank you,” she said, kissing Erica’s forehead again. “Thank you.” She stroked Erica’s face. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.”  
  
Erica scrunched her brow, then closed her eyes. A few seconds later she opened them again, focused on Franky. She shook her head slowly. _It’s not your fault.”_  
  
“Shhhh,” Franky said, knowing what her lover was thinking. “We’ll be home soon.”


	19. Something’s Gotta Give

Erica’s only injury, physical anyway, was the slightly deep slice to her throat, which did not require stitches. They arrived back at the flat to see two of the TR squad, Josh and Shannon, at the door. It had been kicked in, and would need to be replaced. TR promised to stay on the premises until the door was repaired, and then police would stand by out front until the danger was cleared.  
  
Franky and Erica were grateful for the backup, but really didn’t give a rats ass in the moment. They were exhausted. Franky was frayed — the idea of losing Erica, of Erica even being physically harmed — had taken her to a very dark place. A place she had wanted to leave behind at Wentworth. But apparently, Ferguson was sticking around, haunting her, reminding her. Franky pushed the thoughts aside for the time being and pulled Erica down the corridor to the master bedroom.  
  
They had incinerated Erica’s bloody blouse and pants at the hospital; she was now wearing green scrubs favorited by the hospital staff. Franky started the shower, peeled Erica’s clothes off her, and pushed her inside, following soon after she had undressed herself. After rinsing off the bloody filth in Erica’s hair and over her body, they went to the bath where they soaked together for over an hour. Following the bath, they went to bed.  
  
Ironically, it was Erica who turned out to be pretty much alright. She always felt solid as long as she was near Franky. The events of the evening had been frightening — more so than anything else in her life. But she’d ended up in Franky’s arms. The world was right again for her. It was Franky, this night, who sought the comfort of Erica’s strength, who cried herself out in Erica’s arms.  
  
They spent the next several days planning an extended honeymoon.  
  
**************************  
  
Two weeks later it was Christmas day at the Davidson house. Franky was in the kitchen with Erica’s mother, testing the egg nog. Erica’s mother was still not happy about her daughter’s choice as a life partner, but had declared a truce when she learned that they had married in Auckland. At least the lesbian ex-con had honorable intentions toward the eldest Davidson girl. But Mrs. Beverly Davidson would not be denied a wedding. Franky wasn’t interested in a wedding. Erica could go either way. So Franky and the Mrs. continued to battle it out.  
  
“You know, you could be quite fetching in a tuxedo, young Franky.” Mrs. Davidson was also sure that this younger woman would tire of her daughter, and took pains to remind them of it every time she addressed Franky as “youngster;” “girl-child,” or, usually, “Young Franky.”  
  
Franky thought it was hysterical and countered by calling Erica the “Old Girl” at every opportunity. “I actually do look fantastic in a tux, Mrs. Davidson. But I’m not wearing one for you.” She took a sip of the egg nog. It needed about three times as much liquor. “Perfect,” she smiled.  
  
Mrs. Davidson frowned at her. “You’re a terrible liar.” She turned the rum bottle upside down over the bowl. Franky’s smile widened. Mrs. Davidson was  bound to come around, warm up to her sooner than later. The older woman loaded up the tray and headed into the other room.  
  
Franky moved into the doorway where she had an unobstructed view of the Old Girl. Erica was in the lounge with the rest of the family, shaking the festively wrapped boxes under the tree. She and Nic were trying to guess what was in them. They would be opened soon after the egg nog was served. They always had egg nog, after dinner, while opening gifts.  
  
Erica’s mother was immediately surrounded by her sizable brood of children, their spouses and grandchildren.  
  
Except for Erica, who only had eyes for Franky, as Franky stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge, smiling, her blouse unbuttoned enough to show her fantastic cleavage and that damn tattoo Erica loved to kiss. Erica stood and approached her slowly. Taking advantage of the egg nog distraction for the rest of the family, she pressed her body against her spouse, wrapping her arms about Franky’s neck.  
  
“What’s this?” Franky said, leaning in for a kiss, which Erica dodged. “Ahhh. Didn’t think so.” Still not willing to kiss in front of the fam. But Erica was rubbing against her suggestively. Franky decided she would not settle for it this time. They were headed to Tahiti the following morning for a well earned, month-long honeymoon in a cabana on a private beach. Franky had packed their favorite toys in her carry on. She wanted to start now.  
  
She looked pointedly up above their heads. Erica followed her gaze. There was a healthy sprig of mistletoe there. Franky’s million-watt grin appeared.  
  
“No way,” Erica whispered, breaking into a wide smile.  
  
When Franky leaned in a second time, she said, “way,” and pressed her lips gently against Erica’s.  
  
This time Erica did not dodge. She was ready for the addictive softness of Franky’s lips. And Franky wasn’t really asking this time. She was kissing her. Forcefully, if gently. Erica decided, finally, that being in love with Franky Doyle, what Franky’s love did for her, made her not give a flying fuck anymore what anyone thought about their kisses. After everything they had been through together over the past few months — hell, since meeting at Wentworth — she wasn’t going to squander a single opportunity, ever again, to savor what they meant to one another.  
  
Erica opened to Franky’s tongue, pushed her hands into Franky’s hair, and let herself go. It never got old, the first tingle when their tongues touched, the heady sensation of pleasure radiating from her mouth, down her chest, across her lower back into her arse. The warmth uncurling in her belly as Franky expertly devoured her.  
  
Franky felt the shift when Erica’s lips parted for her, the final release of old mores and self-consciousness. She flipped the script a bit, let Erica lead, for a change, wondering how far she would go with this. Erica’s smiled against her mouth and pushed in more fully, making the kiss hotter, more substantial. Franky almost lost her train of thought.  
  
_Okay. This is good. I’m happy. Merry Christmas, to each and every one!_  
  
Then Erica deepened the kiss further, shoving her tongue forcefully against Franky’s, drinking of her, hungrily. Franky tightened her grip around Erica’s waist and finally took over, kissing her back thoroughly, forgetting where they were and just melting into her wife. They stayed like that, kissing decadently under the mistletoe for several minutes.  
  
Until Nic exclaimed, “Well fucking A! Get a room, would you?”  
  
Erica turned to face her family, within the circle of safety of Franky’s arms. Everyone was staring at them, except some of the smaller children, whose eyes were covered by parents or older siblings. Erica didn’t blush. Mrs. Davidson did.  
  
***************************  
  
Franky lazed on a beach lounger under a large umbrella in front of their cabana, wearing a sarong and sunglasses. Nothing else. She took a sip from the tumbler of chilled coconut water next to her on a tray and peered over at the companion lounger that was empty. Erica ought to be coming in now. She’d been out in the surf for quite awhile — she ought to be prunin’.  
  
As if on cue, Erica emerged from the waves, like Botticelli’s Venus, gloriously nude. They’d been there more than a week and were evenly tanned all over as they tended to go without clothing most of the time. Franky couldn’t help but smile at her golden girl.  
  
Erica took her time walking up the pristine white sand beach, enjoying Franky’s eyes on her. As she reached the foot of the lounger, she stopped and stretched her arms up, arching her back gratuitously.  
  
Franky chuckled. “Come here, gorgeous,” she said, reaching for her lover.  
  
Erica took the proffered hand and tumbled softly on top of Franky, a much appreciated cool, wet balm to Franky’s overheated skin. Erica gently removed Franky’s sunglasses and enjoyed the twinkle in those emerald orbs — a twinkle she hadn’t seen since their first flirtatious days together in Wentworth — before leaning in for a long, leisurely kiss.  
  
Franky stroked Erica’s arse, then squeezed, earning a bit of a squeak as she pushed her thigh up slightly between Erica’s legs. Erica’s hips twitched, and Franky reached underneath, finding her warm, wet and ready. She chuckled against Erica’s lips. Erica bit her.  
  
“Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish,” she murmured, latching onto Franky’s neck.  
  
Who knew Erica was a sex fiend? The girl was almost always ready; and when she wasn’t, she was barely a few strokes away. It was only mid day and they’d had sex three times already. Franky couldn’t muster another orgasm, but Erica seemed to have an endless capacity to respond to Franky’s touch. Not that she was complaining. It thrilled Franky to no end to have that kind of power over Erica Davidson.  
  
She rubbed Erica’s clitoris in slow circles, then slid two fingers in. Erica moaned, and began to rock, slowly, against Franky’s hand. Several minutes went by and Erica’s breathing became ragged. Franky dabbed the fingers of her other hand in the sea water wetness on Erica’s back, then slipped two fingers into her backside. Erica began grinding against Franky in earnest, quickly falling into a long, shuddering climax. She fell limp atop her lover.  
  
Franky pulled Erica’s hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. Erica tucked her face into Franky’s neck.  
  
“God I love you,” Franky whispered against her hair. Erica smiled against Franky’s skin, and sank into a light doze, exhausted from her swim and the lovemaking.  
  
As Erica slept against her, Franky’s mind wandered over their last week together on the beach. It was peaceful. She didn’t know where Erica found this place, or how freaking expensive it must be, or how they could afford it for that matter, but she didn’t care.  
  
The hut was situated in a private cove that was only reachable by boat or through several miles of dense, impassable jungle. Nobody went the jungle route. It was serviced on request by a middle-aged woman who came by speedboat bringing provisions and cleaning up for them, if they wanted it. She also took away refuse, and offered to take clothes for laundering, which would be returned on the next provision trip. The only communication was a two-way radio hanging on a wall in the kitchen that connected them to the main resort. If they called, they could have new provisions and service within the next day.  
  
Their beach house was a one room affair, but that didn’t do it justice. It was extremely well appointed with full plumbing and solar electricity; a high end kitchen and a humongous bed in a “bedroom” that was actually a side patio encased in mosquito netting. They slept under the stars and woke with the sun.  
  
They had their own small, motorized boat at the tiny dock, which they could use in an emergency or to take short excursions. And they could go back to the main resort at any time to take advantage of the spa, restaurants, dancing, scuba lessons — the sorts of “all inclusive” vacationing things that happened at such places.  
  
There was no sign that Franky and Erica needed anything except occasional provisions and each other, and the ongoing desire to explore the proper kinky uses of every surface in the near vicinity. Sex on the beach wasn’t as sexy as it sounded. Damn sand in the wrong places at the wrong time. But inside the house, there were plenty of solid crossbeams overhead upon which to tie Erica’s hands.  
  
It actually didn’t matter how much it cost, as far as Franky was concerned. There were so many things they hadn’t talked about — their finances being one of them. Franky knew that Erica had already inherited no small amount of wealth from her parents. The St. Kilda flat was valued at a million five. At least according to Zillow. Yes, Franky had checked.  
  
And Franky had just happened into a boon of her own. She hadn’t paid too much attention at the time, but when she was hired on at deMedici Law, she’d signed a lot of papers. One of them was life insurance, with guaranteed payouts in cases of death, personal injury and dismemberment or something, if said incident occurred as a result of deMedici Law employment. Franky had hit a double play with the hostage situation and the kidnapping; and had also been given a generous severance package. She was sitting on a cool $2.5 million in the bank. She knew it was largely hush money — lots of non-disclosure language in all of the hiring papers. And she knew that Michael had been behind the exceedingly large distribution. But she wasn’t about to give any of it back or feel badly about it. She figured she’d earned it. She would need to talk about it with Erica, though.  
  
There was also the business with Ferguson. That bitch needed to pay. But Franky wasn’t sure she wanted to be involved with the woman actually ending up dead. There was no way Franky was going to do anything that was going to land her back inside. Even remotely. Okay, she didn’t actually care if the woman ended up dead. But she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. By the time they’d left for Tahiti, Ferguson was in isolation at the psych unit. That was all she knew.  
  
She pushed thoughts of Ferguson away as Erica stirred against her, stretching, rubbing herself against Franky like an elegant, pampered, sexy cat.  
  
“I love you too, Franky Davidson-Doyle,” she said, as if they were still in a conversation she hadn’t fallen asleep on nearly half hour ago. “But I’ll love you more if you feed me. I’m famished.”  
  
They stood up together and Franky tied a sarong around Erica’s hips, going down on her knees to kiss the flat, smooth, tanned stomach. Her skin tasted of salt and sunblock.  
  
“Don’t even think about it,” Erica pushed Franky away from her belly. “You’re going to kill me with sex. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I need food, my love.” She took off running toward the cabana. Franky sprinted after her.  
  
***********************************  
  
They had eaten and then Franky walked down the beach alone to look for shells to take home with them. Erica stayed behind and picked up one of the paperbacks left in the house by previous guests. She tried to read — the book was actually quite a good pick. She’d never gotten to the _Gormenghast_ novels, and someone had left all three. She was about half way through _Titus Groan_ but her mind kept drifting back to  to the several nights after she had nearly been killed by Ferguson’s hit man. She’d managed to keep the thoughts at bay, not sure she was ready to try to unpack what had happened between her and Franky then. But here they were, insisting on inspection.  
  
_The first night they had fallen asleep in each others arms, too exhausted to do anything but hold each other. The second night, they made slow, sweet love to one another, carefully, thoughtfully, gently. By the third night, Erica needed something else. She needed their dominant and submissive relationship back in bed. She needed the rigid hierarchy of it, to feel like Franky was in control of everything. Between Franky having been taken hostage, then kidnapped, then the assault on Erica, the cumulative stress suddenly hit Erica hard. She wanted to be taken in hand and told what to do, what not to do. Punished for letting that man get to her. Then rewarded for taking her punishment well._  
  
_But Franky would have none of it. They weren’t talking about anything that had happened. They were barely talking at all, aside from planning their honeymoon. Franky was moving around the flat like a shell-shocked war vet. She refused to go see Bridget Westfall. She barely got off the lounge. It was quite clear that having come so close to losing Erica to violence, she wasn’t willing to visit their BDSM until there was much more distance between all the terrible adventures of the past few months. But it seemed like she had given up on something entirely, maybe given up on herself. Erica had talked herself blue trying to get Franky to open up._  
  
_She had finally, in desperation on day five, called work and told them she was taking indefinite leave, stripped herself naked, cuffed herself, and gone to Franky with the riding crop._  
  
Please? _She pushed the crop into Franky’s face. She was lying on the lounge, as usual, watching television._  
  
_Franky batted the thing away._ Jesus, Erica. Put that away. I told you we aren’t doing that! Put some clothes on!  
  
Ever? _Erica had asked._  
  
For awhile, _Franky had answered, looking back at the idiot box._  
  
_That was absolutely not going to work for Erica. Now that Franky had introduced her to their unique affinity for one another and their shared kink, it was part of who she was. She needed that dynamic, the lyrical dialogue of their bodies together when Franky was top and she was bottom. It was pure magic, the way Franky played her and the way her body answered Franky’s every command. It took them both into another dimension, bound them closer and closer together while also making them both stronger, more present people in their lives and relationships outside the bedroom. And she knew Franky needed it too. They wouldn’t heal, either of them, without it. Erica was angry at Franky’s refusal to see it. Angry at Franky’s fear._  
  
_Erica had no idea what got into her. But after begging and pleading on that final evening, as she was ready to crawl out of her skin for want of Franky’s firm handling, she left Franky on the lounge watching television and stormed into the bedroom. It was nearly 10pm, but she showered and put on a sexy dress, make-up, and was deciding on accessories when Franky came into the bedroom. She stood behind Erica, watching her face in the mirror, as she put her earrings in._  
  
What are you doing?  
  
I’m going out.  
  
_Franky scoffed._ Really. Where do you think you’re going?  
  
Velvet Curtain. Maybe I can find someone — anyone — to be my dom tonight, since you aren’t up to it.  
  
_Erica watched, breathing hard, as Franky’s eyes turned hard and cold._ Really _, she said, venomously._  
  
Yes. _Erica waited, trying not to tremble. She was afraid Franky would actually let her go._  
  
Fine. _Franky turned and walked back into the lounge. Erica choked back a sob, willed herself not to cry. She needed to get out of there before she lost her nerve. Even if she just ended up at her parents house, crying in her soup, she needed to get away from this Franky for a bit. Try to figure out what to do. Maybe_ she _needed to talk to Bridget Westfall._  
  
_Erica opened the front door with dread and disappointment, only to find it slammed closed. Franky had come behind her, shutting the door with an angry slap of her hand from over Erica’s shoulder. Erica didn’t turn around, waited to see what Franky would do._  
  
What did I tell you about leaving?  
  
I go when you say I can go.  
  
Good girl. So what are you doing?  
  
I’m going out. I told you. I’m not staying here another night with you like this.  
  
_Franky spun her around and pressed her forearm across Erica’s throat. Erica’s breath came in short rasps. She became lightheaded and Franky didn’t let up. Erica pulled her foot up, pressed it against Franky’s belly, and kicked her away. Franky stumbled back in surprise and Erica turned to open the door again. Franky caught her by the hair this time, and pulled her back toward the center of the room, towards the lounge._  
  
You have to be fucking kidding me, Erica.  
  
Stop, Franky, _Erica had pleaded._ You’re hurting me!  
  
_She was thrown onto the lounge, face down. Franky grabbed the back of her dress at the bottom and ripped it, unceremoniously, all the way up to the neck, exposing Erica’s most expensive, delicate, lacy french bra and knickers, garter and stockings._  
  
_Franky groaned._ No fucking way are you leaving now. _She slapped her hard, on the arse. Erica howled and jumped up, ditching the dress. She leapt over the back of the lounge, putting the piece of furniture between them. Franky’s eyes were burning._  
  
Come here, Erica.  
  
_That smack had really hurt. Not that pain wasn’t a part of their sexuality, but they usually worked up to it. And Erica was sure Franky had never hit her that hard before. She had meant to light a fire in Franky, but now she was afraid. Franky was burning brightly. Erica hadn’t seen that expression before._  
  
_She dashed into the kitchen, putting the island between them. Franky followed her leisurely. There was nowhere for Erica to go except out onto the lanai. Erica moved toward one end of the bench, Franky went to meet her and Erica ran the opposite way toward the bedroom. Franky smirked, chased her, and tackled her just short of the master bedroom. She flipped her over and kissed her, hard. It was painful. Their teeth clicked together and Erica tasted blood. She fought back, finally dislodging Franky from her body and scampered into the bedroom, trying to close the door._  
  
_Franky was faster, catching Erica in an embrace that forced her hands to be trapped behind her back, held by Franky’s iron grip. Franky grinned evilly at her as she backed her up against the wall next to the bureau. Next to their toy drawer. Holding Erica with one hand, she extracted the cuffs from the drawer with the other, then pushed Erica down onto the bed, straddled her hips and secured the cuffs to the wrists and then to each other. Erica fought like a hellcat the entire way, leaving several scratch marks on Franky’s arms and even landing a solid, open-handed smack to Franky’s jaw. Franky kept smiling._  
  
_Franky wrestled Erica’s wrists up to the hook over the bed and turned to swiftly disrobe and pull something else out of the drawer. When she turned around, Erica was standing up, unhooking herself. Then Erica saw what Franky had in her hand, and she froze, her mouth open._  
  
_Franky stared at Erica incredulously. A_ re you out of your mind? Get down! Now! _She yelled. And unfurled the long, leather whip, making a loud cracking sound next to Erica’s head. Erica winced but didn’t move. Before she could even blink, Franky had flicked her wrist and the lash came at Erica again, this time landing on her pristine, white inner thigh. Erica yelped and looked down at the spot where a dark red welt was rising. She stared at Franky completely dumbfounded as Franky expertly left a matching mark on the other thigh. Erica yelped again and immediately dropped back to her knees, hands and wrists securely hooked above her head, eyes wide and riveted to the whip. It was new, bigger, longer than the one Franky usually used._  
  
Turn around, _Franky commanded._ _Erica did._  
  
_Franky proceeded to alternately lash Erica’s back and sting her buttocks with the instrument of torture, as Erica began to think of it. At first she cried out with every stroke, but then, after a bit, fell into a haze of pain and rhythm as Franky continued to whip her until her arm tired. Erica’s head had fallen forward, her chin against her chest as she gave herself to the sweet agony of Franky’s ministrations. She was barely aware that it had stopped, when Franky entered her from behind. The handle of the whip was much smaller than the dildo they normally used, but she was dripping and aching inside from the pleasure of the whipping. The long, slow strokes Franky used belied the fire that burned inside of Erica. She was ready to come with only a few strokes._  
  
You don’t come until I say so.  
  
_Erica groaned and tried to focus on something other than the pain and the pleasure. Baby kitties? Peanut butter? Grasshoppers. Fiesta ware. Franky continued the long, slow strokes as Erica evened out her breathing, waiting for the command. It was excruciating. She was so ready. Bunny rabbits. Actually, bunnies were kinda sexy. Small, furry._  
  
Franky, please!  
  
_Franky pulled the whip handle away and quickly lay down with her head between Erica’s thighs._  
  
Now _, she said, as she flicked Erica’s nub with her tongue._  
  
_Erica immediately began to shudder, the orgasm hitting her so hard she saw lights flashing behind her closed eyes. Franky put her fingers inside and fucked her fast and hard while continuing the attention with her tongue. Erica’s second orgasm came quickly behind the first, splashing Franky’s face and mouth with her juices. Then a third._  
  
Stop. Please stop. Franky. I can’t take anymore.  
  
_Franky moved out from under Erica and went back to the drawer. It was only then_ _that Erica realized that her back and buttocks were on fire, as she felt Franky laving cool aloe across her skin. Franky then unhooked her from the ceiling, laid her down on her back and attached the cuffs to the headboard. She then cuffed Erica’s ankles to posts at the foot of the bed._  
  
I shouldn’t let you have me. You’ve been an extraordinarily bad girl this evening, Miss Davidson, _Franky had said, straddling Erica’s waist._ But I need you to take the edge off. I’m getting distracted. And you won’t have any fun if I’m distracted.  
  
_Franky moved up the bed, placing her knees on either side of Erica’s head and her sex above Erica’s mouth. Then she began to masturbate herself, just out of reach of Erica’s tongue._  
  
_Erica groaned._ Oh god, I hate you Franky Doyle. I really do. You are _… But then her mouth was full of Franky. And she feasted._  
  
_It was another hour before Franky uncuffed Erica’s wrists and ankles, and they both fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Erica sprawled on top of Franky, Franky possessively palming Erica’s arse with one hand, their fingers interlaced with the other._  
  
Her reverie was interrupted by Franky returning from her walk. Franky was almost on top of her before Erica realized her lover had returned. She blushed.  
  
“Oooh. That dirty little mind is working overtime, I see,” Franky crooned, kissing her softly and lying down next to her on the chaise, spooning.  
  
Erica reached up over her shoulder to stroke Franky’s face. “Did you bring that whip?”  
  
Franky moved so she could see Erica’s face. One eyebrow went up. “Ah, no. Did you want me to bring the whip?”  
  
Erica caressed Franky’s jaw with a finger. “Where did you learn to use it like that?” When she’d awoken the next morning and went to the mirror to inspect Franky’s work, there was a geometrical design of slashes criss-crossing her back, as well as perfectly symmetrical welts on each arse cheek. They stung, but not so bad. It was a pleasant reminder of their night together.  
  
“Hmmm. That’s a very, very long story that I’ll share with you another time.” She leaned down and kissed her. “You know,” she continued as she pulled back, “that was pretty risky, winding me up like that. It could have gone either way.”  
  
“No. It couldn’t. You wouldn’t hurt me.”  
  
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of Erica. And I don’t have the best control when I get — wound up. I have hurt people.”  
  
“You wouldn’t hurt me, Franky. Trust me. I know you — better than I know myself. I trust you, you need to learn to trust me.”  
  
Franky laid back next to Erica with her forearm across her eyes.  
  
Erica went up on her elbow so she could see Franky’s face again. “Hey. Look at me.” She pulled Franky’s arm away. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “You can’t live like this. As if something terrible is just about to happen. As if you don’t deserve better.”  
  
“Erica, I…”  
  
“It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. You’ve done your time, Franky. And nothing is going to happen to me. To us. We are going to get old and crotchety together.”  
  
“That doesn’t happen for me. Ever.”  
  
“It does now. Remember all those times you kept telling me to trust you?” Franky nodded. “And what happened when I finally did?” Franky nodded again. “Everything fell into place for me. You have to trust me too, Franky. You can’t control everything on your own. But together, we can make lots of good,” she kissed her, “fun,” she kissed her again, “sexy,” another kiss, “incredible things happen. But you have to trust it. Trust me to be your partner in it. Trust us.”  
  
Franky pulled her in for a long, deep, heartfelt kiss. When she pulled back, a couple of tears escaped. “I think I might have to keep you, Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica sat up, straddling Franky’s lap. “Only if you brought the riding crop, Ms. Davidson-Doyle. If you didn’t bring that, I’m calling the whole thing off.”  
  
Franky’s million-watt smile appeared as she stood up with Erica’s legs around her waist and carried her to bed.


	20. Not the Final Chapter

It was six months after Erica and Franky had returned from their honeymoon in Tahiti. Franky had accepted a position with a firm that specialized in women and family issues. Erica had gone back to public defense. It had been a good, uneventful rather mundane several months in the Davidson-Doyle household.  They were snuggled together on the lounge, having coffee and pastry, reading the Sunday paper.  
  
“Franky.”  
  
“Hmmmmm.”  
  
“I want a baby.”  
  
Franky inhaled the bit of croissant she’d just put in her mouth, rather than swallowing, and began to choke violently.

Erica grimaced and reached over to pound Franky’s back. “Sorry, Honey. I guess I could approached this better.” She waited while Franky went to get a glass of water, then returned to sit next to her. “I need for us to talk about this.”  
  
Franky leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn’t that she didn’t like children, she’d just never even tried to imagine herself as a parent. Never thought she would actually settle down with one person. Never thought she would find someone like Erica Davidson.  
  
She looked at her partner, setting her glass on the side table. “Okay. I guess I’m a little out of my depth. I’ve got no family to speak of. Zero experience with mini-me’s.”  
  
“Do you want to have children?”  
  
“Hell no! I want no part of anything like that coming out of my body. Have you actually seen a child birth?” Franky’s screwed up her nose.  
  
Erica frowned. “Franky. Be serious. Do you want a family? With me? Are we going to have children together?”  
  
Franky laid down with her head in Erica’s lap. “I want you to be happy, Erica.” She kissed Erica’s belly. “And if that means we have fifteen rugrats, then we have them.”  
  
“I love you, madly. But I want you to be happy too. Are you ready to be a parent, Franky?” Erica caressed Franky’s head, running her fingers through brown locks. “It’s a lot of responsibility. Consumes your time. We haven’t had a lot of time together.”  
  
“So am I ready to share you with a bunch of little crumb-snatchers?” Erica nodded. “That would be a no.” Franky leaned up for a kiss. Erica obliged. “Are you?” She kissed her again. “Ready to give up our play time?”  
  
Erica tried not to be distracted by Franky’s tongue teasing her own, the resultant tingles across her scalp, down her spine, but wasn’t very successful. Several minutes went by before she realized she was on her back with Franky on top of her, sharing long, leisurely, deep kisses.  
  
“Mmmmm.” She hummed into Franky’s mouth. “Maybe not right this minute.” Franky chuckled against her and moved down to kiss Erica’s neck. “It’s a good thing you aren’t a man, Franky Doyle. We might already have a baby. Can you imagine if I had become pregnant from our first night together?”  
  
Franky sighed and laid her head against Erica’s chest. If she couldn’t distract her with foreplay, there was no way to avoid this conversation. Which in all fairness, shouldn’t be avoided. Erica had an extended family that was very close, having dinner together at least once per month — they even vacationed together at times. It was Franky's first experience with a healthy family life, and, if truth be told, made her a little uncomfortable. Franky’s mum was dead and she was estranged from her father; but she had grown attached to Michael.  Between Erica, Michael and Booms, who should be paroled in the next 12 months, Franky was rather creating a ‘family’ of her own. But kids?  
  
“We could have an infant several months old at this point,” Erica continued. “Wow. I wonder what our baby would look like? I’d hope she’d have your eyes…”  
  
Franky rested her chin on Erica’s sternum as she let Erica get a good look at those emerald orbs, smiling. “I’m definitely not ready to have other… people… inside our relationship. I’m quite clear I want you all to myself.”  
  
“I can understand that. I feel the same way. But I feel like children would be more of us to love.”  
  
“Hmmm. I hadn’t thought of it in that way.” Franky considered this, but didn’t feel convinced. Even though Erica’s nephews and nieces seemed rather well behaved, she wasn’t particularly interested in any of them.  Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. Erica’s oldest brother had a six month old named Jude, who inexplicably lit up and reached for Franky whenever she saw him. He was kind of sweet.  
  
Imagine what a baby Erica would do to her heart? That was actually scary. Franky cleared her throat. “And you want a baby? Like an 18-years-till-launch baby?”  
  
Erica chuckled. “I don’t think they come in any other way, honey. But I can wait.”  
  
“We could adopt. Or foster an older child. Do you want to have the baby, or are we going to get a baby? I was serious. I am not having a baby, Erica.”  
  
Erica laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be in a house where you were pregnant, my love. I’m sorry. No one should have to go through that.”  
  
Franky grinned at her. “Agreed!”  
  
“I’m not opposed to adopting, or fostering. But I definitely want at least one mini-me and one mini-you.”  
  
_At least. Jesus,_ Franky thought. _So we are talking about more than one kid._ She sighed again, deeply.  
  
Erica watched Franky equivocate between wanting to please her but also being very unsure about this family thing, and decided to leave it alone, give Franky time to absorb this. She leaned down to kiss her, pulling Franky back up so their bodies were even. She pushed her thigh up between Franky’s legs as she slid her hands into Franky’s shorts, squeezing a firm butt. “So let’s put that to the side for awhile. Right now,” she nipped Franky’s bottom lip, “I think we should practice making a baby.” She slid one hand down further, reaching for Franky’s sex.  
  
Franky kissed her back enthusiastically, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure it won’t work. But I’ll go for high marks on effort.” She unbuttoned Erica’s shirt.  
  
**********************************  
  
Franky walked across campus toward the University’s main library. She had pleasant memories of attending law school there. Could hardly believe it was nearly two years ago that she got out of Wentworth, that she and Erica had been together over a year. She was looking for Michael, who had started a masters program in Criminal Psychology and was in classes, studying full time.  
  
She tapped on the window of an individual study room inside the library. Michael looked up, quirked her lips, looked back down at her book. Franky entered the tiny room and leaned a hip against the desk. Michael pretended to ignore her.  
  
“DeMedici.” Michael finally looked up. She had reading glasses on and one of her trademark white silk blouses, with several buttons undone, more than hinting at her minimal cleavage. And she was working those skinny jeans. But the eyewear made her look super sexy intellectual, instead of just super sexy gorgeous.  
  
“Doyle.” She smiled.  
  
“Seen the news today?”  
  
“No. Exam Friday.” She tapped the book she had been reading.  
  
Franky pulled the newspaper out of her satchel and pushed it under Michael’s nose. “Would you know anything about this?”  
  
_‘Freak’ Ferguson Found Flailing_ was the headline. Joan Ferguson had hanged herself in the psych ward the night prior. It was suspicious. She was not under suicide watch and had never threatened self-harm.  
  
Michael closed the paper inside her book and packed it up with her things. “Let’s walk.”  
  
They exited the library and walked across campus in companionable silence, until they reached 7 Seeds, a coffee shop that Franky had frequented during her 3L. The barrista recognized Franky immediately.  
  
“Franks! Fantastic to see you! Hot as ever! The usual?”  
  
Franky smiled at her and nodded. “Make that two.” Michael drank the same flat white, straight, as Franky.  
  
They sat down and Michael pulled the article out of her bag. Read it. Looked up at Franky. “So?”  
  
Franky blinked at her. “How?”  
  
“How did a lunatic psychopath hang herself in her secure institutional psych ward room? I don’t know. What do you reckon?”  
  
“It’s suspicious.”  
  
“You aren’t seriously talking to me about this. I think you just miss my, how do you call it, ugly mug.”  
  
Franky sighed. She knew better than to ask the actual question, and hadn’t really expected any response from Michael about whether or not she was involved. But she wanted to talk about it anyway. At least look at Michaels face, hear her deny it. “I do miss you.”  
  
Michael smiled. “Just say that, Doyle.” She sipped her coffee. “Any trouble in paradise?”  
  
“The opposite.”  
  
“A girl can dream,” Michael sighed dramatically. “Although Vincent keeps me entertained. Natural red head, in case you were wondering.”  
  
“No! Jesus. Too much information. I can’t believe you’re boning the Inspector.” Franky rolled her eyes. “I thought she was straight. She’s the straightest straight girl I’ve seen for kilometers.”  
  
“Wasn’t it you who told me that all women are only one deep kiss away?” Michael leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “It’s all about the Porsche, anyway. She’ll do anything to drive that car. And I’m not so demanding. She’s not the only horse in the stable, you know.”  
  
“Fuckall, deMedici.” Franky glared at her. “Twist the knife, why don’t you?”  
  
Michael smirked. “Smack some sense into your partner and its yours. Your name is still on the title. Anytime you want to pick it up…”  
  
Franky grinned, more to herself than her coffee mate. Smacking Erica was fun as hell, but wasn’t going to get Franky any closer to that Porsche.  Maybe now she could afford one of her own, though. Would it be possible to have sex in a 944?  
  
Michael finished her coffee and tilted her head slightly. “Earth to Doyle.”  
  
Franky looked up, snapping out of some tantalizing images of Erica inside the sports car, on her lap in bondage wear.  
  
“I have studying to do.” Michael stood up. “Get it together. I have to invite myself to dinner now?”  
  
Franky laughed out loud. “Apparently. How’s Friday night for you? 8pm-ish?”  
  
“I’ll bring vino. See you then.” Michael stood up from the table but didn’t walk away.  
  
Franky waited, hiding her anticipation. _Tell me. Say it._ She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear that Michael did something or hear her deny it. Would Michael kill someone to protect Franky? Could she?  
  
Michael stared at Franky, her expression unreadable. “She would have kept coming after you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve seen her counseling notes — she was completely unhinged. It’s better this way. Just leave it and get on with your life.” She ran two fingers along Franky’s jaw tenderly, then she was loping back across campus toward the library.  
  
Franky’s eyes widened slightly as she took in what Michael was saying, trying to hide her shock. Michael hadn’t exactly admitted anything. But she was clearly well informed, had intricate details about Ferguson that she should not. Ricci was also dead, murdered by other inmates. _People who piss off the deMedici’s disappear._ Erica had said that to her nearly a year ago. It seemed to be true. Was Michael really capable of… that? And who was she to judge, anyway? Plenty of blood on her own hands.  
  
She ordered another flat white and sat back down to read the newspaper article about Ferguson again. Did she actually care if deMedici was behind it? Good riddance was more like it. Franky could finally close the book on her time at Wentworth, it seemed. On most of her past. Her life with Erica couldn’t be more perfect. She knew she didn’t deserve it. But here it was, and she was ecstatic. She pushed away the impending sense of something bad on the horizon.  
  
She thought back on their time in Tahiti. It had been pure bliss, having Erica to herself for four solid weeks with nothing to do but eat, tan, swim, and fuck. And they didn’t drive each other nuts. They had a lot of fun together, playing in the surf and in the bedroom. She was honestly tempted by Erica’s elaborate fantasy of the two of them immediately retiring to a small island and living on love. Erica’s estate was loaded; and with proper investment, Franky’s windfall would also yield long term income that they could live on.  
  
Her mobile rang. She didn’t recognize the caller, but answered anyway.  
  
“Franky Doyle?”  
  
“Yeah. Who is this?”  
  
“Stella. Stella Dagostino. Tactical Response. Do you remember me?”  
  
Franky looked at her mobile perplexed. “Um, yes. Actually.” This was the kid who looked remarkably like Franky. Seeing her the few of times she’d had to interact with the Tactical Response Team had made Franky very uncomfortable. It was just weird. Why the fuck was she calling?  
  
“We should talk. I’ve found some information about your family that might interest you.”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have any family.” And she was annoying! Why the hell would Stella Dagostino have information about the Doyle family? “If this has anything to do with my father, I’m not interested. Tell him he can piss off!”  
  
“No, it isn’t that. Please. I need to talk to you.” Stella sighed heavily. Christ, this woman was hostile. Stella wondered if she wasn’t making a mistake. Then she realized that prison had probably made the other woman quite defensive about people prying into her affairs. Stella had wanted to have the conversation in person, but that might not be possible with this level of ire. “Look. I think you and I might be related.”  
  
Franky stopped fuming and stared at the mobile again. This was ridiculous. Right? Some strange prank. But by who? “Ahhhhh…” Franky couldn’t think of anything to say.  
  
“What are doing right now?”  
  
“Having a cuppa. Seven Seeds.”  
  
“The one near campus?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Stay put. Be there in five.”  
  
Literally five minutes later, Stella Dagostino strolled into the cafe and slid into the booth across from Franky. She wasn’t in uniform.  
  
Franky chewed her bottom lip as she stared into green eyes across the table. Now that she really had the chance to look at her, face to face, she and Stella could be… _Fuck._  
  
Stella pulled a folded up piece of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans. It was worn and creased. She slid it across the table to within Franky’s reach.  
  
“I’d seen you on TV years ago, with the celebrity chef thing. And I thought it was just… odd. Coincidental. A lot of my friends said the same thing.” Stella said, her face open, earnest, where Franky’s was closed and wary. “But then after you were held hostage and I saw you up close, I did a little digging. Wasn’t hard to find, actually.”  
  
Franky’s hands shook as she unfolded the paper and flattened it.  
  
“I’ve been carrying that around since then. Wondering if I should say anything. But then with the kidnapping, I thought, what if something happens to one or both of us and we never even talked?”  
  
Franky read the document. Then looked back up at Stella. Her eyes were hard and cold. “That was six months ago. What do you want?” Franky was hostile and distrustful. And confused. And hurt. And many other things, but she knew how to do defensive anger better than the others.  
  
Stella looked taken aback. “I want my sister to know who I am,” she said simply.  
  
The document, still under Franky’s fingers, was a birth certificate for a Stella Mary Doyle, born at 8:28pm on December 9, 1987. It had Franky’s parents listed as Stella’s parents. And the line next to “twin” had a check mark. A place that was suspiciously smudged on Franky’s own birth certificate. But she had never thought anything of it. Other than that check mark and the first and middle names, the birth certificate was a carbon copy of Franky’s own. Same hospital, same town, same attending physician. There was absolutely no reason to fake it. Still, Franky couldn’t quite wrap her head around this. Someone, even her drunk ass, abusive, cunt of a mother would have told her if she had a sister, right? Wouldn’t her father?   
  
The barrista called to them from behind the coffee bar. “Hey Franks! I never knew you had a twin! Awesome. Flat white for you too, love?”  
  
Stella nodded but kept her attention on Franky. “I know it’s a lot to take in…”  
  
“Shut up. Just shut up for a minute.” Franky put her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes closed. So many emotions swirled through her. She felt nauseous. She reached for the anger again. “Why did you wait so long?”  
  
Stella looked down at her hands, scrunching her brow, examining her fingernails. Franky recognized the gesture. It was one of her own. When she was emotionally vulnerable. But when she looked back up, Stella wasn’t guarded like Franky would have been. Stella was wide open, her eyes brimming with tears.  
  
“I don’t know. I wasn’t ready…” She took a deep breath. “When I looked at what had happened to you, how you ended up in prison, I thought maybe you hadn’t had such a great life. That maybe I was the lucky one who got put out to pasture with social services.”  
  
“Stop. Just stop.”  
  
Stella was crying openly now. “And then you could have died. And I still didn’t say anything. And then I felt like a coward. But it seemed so complicated. Then the guy took Erica…”  
  
_Fuck. There are two of us. This is my sister. My twin sister. And she is a highly skilled tactical response officer with elite training who has saved my life twice this year. Erica’s too. Embrace the fucking miracle, Doyle._ Franky stood up and pulled Stella into her arms, squeezing her tightly. Stella hiccoughed, trying to stop sobbing.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m being a complete arse. I just…” Franky sighed. “I don’t really…” _Shit_. “You caught me a little off guard, you know?” Stella nodded against her shoulder, her arms circling Franky’s waist. “I need a minute.” She decided to act like an adult, instead of the five year old inside her that wanted to flail and take down everything around her when she felt overwhelmed, out of control.  
  
The barrista showed up next to them with Stella’s coffee. “Is there anything I can do, Franks?” She was genuinely concerned.  
  
“Nah, thanks, Jess. By the way. This is my sister, Stella.”  
  
Stella continued to cling to Franky, but managed a smile through her tears. “Cheers,” she said.  
  
“Nice to see you, Stel,” said Jess, and went back to the bar, after winking at Franky.  
  
They sat back down. They both stared. “Birth mark,” Franky asked?  
  
“Lower back, right side. Looks like a crescent moon,” Stella responded. Franky nodded. “Does eggplant give you the shits?” Stella asked, taking a sip of her flat white.  
  
“Like a fucking flash flood.”  
  
Stella spit out her coffee, laughing. Franky had to chuckle herself.  
  
_Well, I guess our future mini-me’s are having another auntie._ “What’s your evening like? Erica needs to know about this. I’d like to do it now.” Franky checked the time. It was nearly 6pm. “Can you come for dinner?”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m on call.” They both stood. Franky couldn’t stop staring. Neither could Stella. “You’re still with Erica?”  
  
“We’re married.”  
  
“Damn. She’s fucking gorgeous. Does she have a sister?”  
  
Erica was going to have a stroke. Michael might be intrigued, though. “Yes, but let’s not go there just yet.” Franky folded up the birth certificate and tucked it back into Stella’s pocket. She hooked their arms together. “Come on.”  
  
********************************  
  
“Unbelievable,” Erica said. “I don’t understand how one person can attract so much… I don’t even have a word for it.” She was lying on her back in bed next to Franky.  
  
_After Erica got over her initial shock, they’d had a nice dinner with Stella Dagostino, learning that she had been adopted by a middle class Portuguese family pretty much at birth. She was an only child, but very happy and well provided for. Her father owned a struggling import-export company and she had spent about half of her life living in homes both in Lisbon and in Melbourne. She was saddened to know that their mother was dead, and not overly interested in their father, given Franky’s rendition of her childhood experiences with them. Neither of them could imagine why one of the twins would have been given up to social services ending up in adoption. Stella had been called into Tactical Response about half way through the meal, so they would need to reconnect soon. Stella would call. Definitely come back soon. Lots to catch up on._  
  
She turned on her side, going up on one elbow. “There is always something insane happening around you, Franky. Always.”  
  
“Does it bother you?” Franky asked, seriously. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can do, though.”  
  
Erica laughed. “Bother me? Are you kidding? I love you. Life with you. It’s fantastic.” She circled Franky’s nipple with her index finger, then leaned over to kiss it. “Safe and pedestrian didn’t really suit me, did it? Although I could do without you ever being held hostage or kidnapped again.”  
  
“Hmmm. I know the feeling.” Franky pushed a lock of blond hair back behind Erica’s ear. “What are you going to do with two of us?”  
  
Erica pushed herself over, on top of Franky and kissed the other nipple, flicking it with her tongue. Smiling as it hardened. “Mmmm. Too bad she’s not a boy. Then we could have made truly Doyle-Davidson offspring.” She leaned up for a taste of Franky’s lips. “But I’m not at all opposed to being in the middle of a Franky-Stella sandwich.”  
  
Franky’s eyes widened. She flipped them over, pinning Erica’s hands to the bed. “Oh my god! You didn’t just… Erica! I can’t un-see that! Were you thinking about sex all evening? Sex with my sister?”  
  
Erica didn’t even blush. The month with Franky in Tahiti had really opened her up, loosened her inhibitions in bed; and unleashed a willingness to share with Franky the detailed sexual fantasies in her head. Franky was the most eager, non-judgmental, willing partner Erica could ask for. Surely, Franky had known this would be where Erica’s thoughts went when presented with double the Franky. Unfiltered Erica. Isn’t that what Franky wanted?  
  
“I can’t even…” Franky sputtered. Then kissed her partner, deeply. “How is it that you’re starting to make me feel like a prude?”  
  
“Is she into women?”  
  
Franky thought about it. “Definitely. But wait. That isn’t the point at the moment.” Franky kissed Erica again, pressing her thigh between Erica’s legs. “You are a _filthy_ girl, Miss Davidson. And I am crazy in love with you.”  
  
Erica’s hands went down to Franky’s arse, squeezing her tightly, pressing the thigh more firmly against her sex. “Mmmmm. Yes, Franky. Now what are you going to do about it?”  
  
Franky pulled herself away from Erica’s heated skin. Erica groaned in protest.  
  
“The whip needs oiling. Cuff yourself, get into position.”  
  
_Yessssss!_ Erica said under her breath, from between clenched teeth as she tried to disguise her excitement. It was sometimes hard for Franky to stay in character when Erica was too obviously eager and delighted with her punishment. If Erica was bouncing like a joey, Franky couldn’t keep a straight face and be the dom. Then Erica would start giggling, and then Franky would get tickled and then the gig was up.  
  
But Erica knew she needed some special discipline tonight, and was determined not to kill the mood. Stella and Franky were identical twins. Franky had some scars, was a little rougher around the edges; Stella looked a bit younger and her skin was flawless. But other than that, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart, except that Stella’s hair was longer. Erica had caught herself staring at Stella a number of times over the course of the evening. Wondering if it would feel the same to kiss her as it did to kiss Franky. She couldn’t imagine it would. She wanted to find out, though. And she’d noticed Stella eyeing her appreciatively. Erica had absolutely dirty thoughts, all evening, about having both Franky and Stella in bed.  
  
Franky’s brow furrowed as she pulled a rag and leather oil out of the supply closet in the hallway. _What in the world have I ever done to deserve this incredibly adventurous, sexy, gorgeous, menacing little minx? Please don’t ever let us have a vanilla, pedestrian life._ Franky hadn’t thought they were ready for three-somes yet. She had already established that she wasn’t ready to share when they’d talked about making a family. She had intended to get there — at least sexually. Definitely ahead of Erica. And since when did Erica not absolutely seethe at the thought of anyone else touching Franky?  
  
Franky had spotted a couple of women at the Velvet Curtain that might be suitable thirds for them, thinking down the road. But since they married, Erica had really come out of her shell. And she was such a _dirty_ girl. Franky was crazy about her, more and more every day.  
  
_Too soon! Too soon! Just let Stella be my sister for a bit._ Franky smiled as she began stroking the whip with the oiled rag, watching Erica watch her movements. She was licking her lips in anticipation.  
  
“Don’t look at me. Did I say you could look at me?”  
  
“No, Mistress.” Franky loved this.  
  
“Then what are you doing?”  
  
“Whatever you say, Mistress.”  
  
“Turn around.” Erica obediently did, facing the wall behind the bed. Franky blindfolded her and then continued to oil the whip. She took her time, stalling for Erica’s tell, that little shiver of anticipation that started to happen when Franky made her wait. It came like clockwork. Even Franky was wet already. It was going to be good tonight.  
  
_Finito - for now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late final chapter. My day job got annoyingly intrusive and time consuming. And family -- jeez. They're just so needy! Especially when they come from across the country to stay at your house for weeks on end. 
> 
> Thanks for riding this with me, folks. My first fanfic here. First about Erica and Franky. I think I have a few more in me -- I'm just too in love with this couple.


End file.
